The Gold Corps: Gold Justice
by Nitebreaker
Summary: What will the only Gold Lantern in the Universe do with his newfound liberty, and with his new friends? What will they do with him? Why did his ring change like that? And a new, or perhaps not-so-new, threat from beyond the stars...Sequel to "The Gold Corps: Genesis." Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Gold Justice: Chapter 1: The Survivor

_I don't own the Green Lantern Corps, Young Justice, etc. You know the drill._

Ragnar's first day with the other members of the team served to confuse him mightily. In training with them, he was learning to adapt his fighting style to include the skills of others, even as they were learning to accommodate themselves to him. Kid Flash had been right about one thing: having their very own ringslinger certainly seemed to be a step up. But Ragnar was also learning to moderate his responses; deadly force wasn't needed in his new circumstances.

Tuesday: Megan was shepherding him through the process of registration at high school. His mind was awhirl with all the things that seemed to need doing, most of which seemed needlessly complicated to him. "And here," she'd said, back at Mt. Justice, "Batman created a new identity for you, an Earth name." She gave him a hard plastic card with the name "Ragin Ramanuja" on it, next to a retouched photo of himself. "You're an exchange student from India. You can answer to 'Ray,' for simplicity's sake. And that'll cover your accent, as well as any unfamiliarity with our language or culture you may encounter. Green Lantern says it should be no problem for you to use your ring to alter your skin tone."

He looked at the picture. It was him, but the color of his skin was heavily "photoshopped," as the human saying went. He didn't really know what that meant, except it wasn't how he really looked. And while he wondered why it should matter, whether or not he had blue skin or brown, he accepted it. This was Megan's world (even though she was actually from Mars), and so he felt it wise to accede to her advice. "Yes, of course." With only a thought, he "photoshopped" (and he was beginning to like the sound of that word) his appearance to match the image on the card. Chocolate brown skin, thick, black, short-cut wavy hair….

"Now, about your clothes…" And here she circled him, looking him up and down speculatively. He was beginning to get a little nervous. _What's wrong with my clothes? _ "Hm. Yes. I think I see what we can do. Come on!"

Three hours and six clothing stores later, he had a complete lineup of Earth-style clothing. He still had no idea as to what went with what ("That's alright, Ragnar; I've noticed most human men seem to have no fashion sense. In that, you're just normal"), but now he had some "civilian" clothes to wear.

Megan had insisted on paying for them, over his protests. "It's alright, Ragnar. This is just for now. You'll get your first paycheck in a couple of weeks, you can pay me back then…oh, and that reminds me, we have to set you up for direct deposit…" And many more terms he barely understood. What was a "paycheck"? And what was "direct deposit"? For that matter, what was a "bank"? Why did everything have to be so confusing?

Right then, Megan's communicator beeped. _"Megan? Hal. You didn't forget about meeting us for lunch, did you?"_

She slapped her forehead. "Of _course_ I did. Hello, Megan!" Ragnar looked around in surprise. He knew "hello" to be a greeting; why would his new friend greet _herself_? Was there maybe another "Megan" around? He looked for one…

…and she caught his arm, almost unbalancing him, pulling him towards the door. "C'mon, Ragnar. You won't need to disguise yourself; this restaurant is used to us."

So it came to pass that he found himself, in his full "Gold Lantern Corps" uniform, along with her, entering a medium-sized building from which the most _enticing_ odors originated. Ragnar's mouth was already watering…and then he remembered: he still didn't have any of that unit of exchange everybody was seemingly focused on: money. The last time he'd been in an Earthly eating establishment, he'd been with his mysterious friend, Sarah, whoever, whatever, she was. She'd given him money to buy food with. He hadn't wanted to take it then, but she'd insisted…

It looked like history was going to repeat itself. He sighed a barely audible sigh. He really didn't want to become a _burden_ to his newfound friends, here on this puzzling planet…he was much more comfortable with taking care of himself.

Megan guided them both through the restaurant to the table where waited Hal Jordan, one of sector 2814's Green Lanterns, and Arisia Raab, a member of the Green Lantern Corps, who'd originally been charged with finding him and bringing him in. That had changed, when both Hal Jordan and Miss Martian had stated they'd personally accept responsibility for his actions. He certainly didn't want to do anything to get them in trouble with their superiors, these mysterious "Guardians of the Universe," that he'd heard of. "Sorry, guys, guess we got a little busy. Ragnar, here, needed some civilian clothes."

Hal Jordan eyed the blue skinned young man, his eyebrow rising in amusement. "Don't tell me: she dragged you to half a hundred clothing stores and had you try on everything in there, right?"

"Uhm. If—if you wish me not to tell you that, why do you ask for confirmation of your statement?"

"Thaaat's what I thought."

Arisia lightly cuffed Jordan on the arm. "Well, _I_ think it's sweet of her to do that. Don't you agree, Hal?" The tone of her voice wasn't in any way questioning, thought Ragnar. Then she turned her attention to the Gold Lantern. "So. You're Ragnar Rok." She looked him up and down. "You know, somehow I didn't picture you as being so…tall." And Hal Jordan noticed a curious thing.

In almost the same instant that Arisia had looked at Ragnar, sizing him up, his new friend, Megan Morse, aka Miss Martian, had hooked her arm through his, and somehow moved ever so slightly so that she was just a fraction of an inch closer to being between Arisia and Ragnar. And of course, Ragnar remained blissfully unaware of it all. Hal noticed, and hid a smirk behind his face. Yes. The boy was definitely in for it now.

Hal saw it was up to him to break up the dance. "Anyway. Is everybody ready to order?" He turned to his menu. "I can recommend the fettucini alfredo highly, though, Ragnar, if you aren't used to spicy foods, you might want to try something else."

"What are 'spicy foods'?"

"In that case, I'd recommend the something else."

As they were waiting for their food (and Ragnar marveled once again at this strange new culture; imagine, somebody else actually preparing food for you that they themselves were not going to eat! Remarkable!), Arisia turned to Ragnar and asked, "So, Ragnar. You said you grew up on a wrecked spaceship?"

"Yes. I spent my first fifteen Earth years on that planet."

"No other people? No other survivors?"

He shook his head. "None. The ship's computer had a voice recognition and response capacity, so that I could tell it what to do and it could answer back, but…no, no other intelligent beings."

The waiter arrived with their rolls. Absently, Arisia buttered one, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Hal, I just tele'd the Guardians, regarding any missing starships in that sector. There hasn't been a single ship go through that area in thousands of years. Hundreds of thousands." She paused a moment, a faraway look on her face. "Make that millions."

Ragnar observed his new friends, and how they ate. He'd learned, from an early age, to observe his surroundings, and to learn from them. So, he, too, took a roll and buttered it. "I don't know where the ship originally came from. I only know where it ended up. And, to the best of my knowledge, the planet has no name. Even I didn't give it one, there being no need."

"Oh, I'm not denying _that._ I take your word for it. It's just….I imagine the crew could have been in suspended animation for, for a long time, or, or—" And here, her face lit up, "Or…if it, the ship, was traveling really close to the speed of light, then time dilation onboard would've slowed time down to a crawl. So…who knows how many years could've gone past, until the ship crashed on the planet itself. Hal," she turned to her fellow GL, "That would have to have been a _long_ time ago. The Guardians' records go back a _long_ way." She turned back to the blue skinned young man, sitting across the table from her. "Ragnar…if that's true, there's a good chance your people, whoever they were, might…not be around anymore. I mean, civilizations, even whole species, do rise and fall, over the eons."

Ragnar thought about that, chewing on this amazing thing they called _bread_ and that they so took for granted. Then, with the most imperceptible of shrugs. "If so, then so. For most of my life, the universe consisted of only one intelligent being: me. Even if there is no other exactly like me, I still find its current population status a distinct improvement."

"Well said!" Hal spoke up, raising his water glass in a toast. "Anyway, here's to answers, regardless of where they lead. Arisia? M'Gann? Ragnar?" And they all raised their glasses.

But Megan noticed Ragnar looking up at the ceiling, his gaze tracking across the ceiling, almost as if he were listening for the sounds of someone walking on the roof. "Something wrong, Ragnar?"

His tone was puzzled. "I…I don't know…exactly. I mean, I don't know if it's what you'd call _wrong_ or not, but…." Again, his eyes tracked across the ceiling. The others waited. "Somewhere…somewhere far, far away….someone is thinking about me."

…

_Back on the crashed spaceship that had housed Ragnar Rok for so long, and had been the only home he'd ever known, certain circuits closed. An ancient line of programming came into play, and features and functions even Ragnar himself had remained unaware of became active._

_A signal was sent out._

….

Mt. Justice: Megan had showed Ragnar to the quarters he'd been assigned to. Aside from the clothes she'd bought for him that day, it was basically a bare room. She couldn't help but feel like it needed a little sprucing up. "Ragnar? Don't you have any, like, pictures of your parents or anything? You could bring those here. It would give the place a better look."

He shook his head. "I never had any pictures of my parents. All I ever had to remember them by, aside from what my ship's computer told me, was their bones, in a storage area, I suppose you'd call it, of my old home." He half-smiled, an expression that just didn't look at home on his face. "Somehow, I don't think those would make good decorations."

"Well, _yeah._ Except maybe for Halloween." She grimaced, fully expecting him to ask about "Halloween."

But he didn't. Instead he asked, "Megan? Have you ever felt like…somebody was watching you, or, or maybe just thinking about you? I mean, when nobody was?"

"What, you mean like what you talked about today, at lunch?" She thought. "Not really. Not like that. I mean, I am a telepath, so when someone's thinking about me, I usually know it anyway. But I don't think that's what you mean."

"No. It's not that. I really don't know how to explain it…"

"Look, you once said that, back before you came here, you'd traveled around the universe, teaching this 'Lesson of Fear' thing? Could that be it? Someone or something you met then thinking about you now?"

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with remembering that part of his past. "I…suppose it's _possible…_but, somehow, I doubt that's what this is. It, it doesn't _feel_ like that." He shook his head. "I can't really explain it any better than that."

She nodded. "I know. Having more than the Earth-usual five senses, I know how frustrating it can be, to be trying to explain something like that in plain words." She looked up at him, from where she'd sat, on the couch in his room. "Do you suppose it could be Sarah?" Referring to Ragnar's mysterious friend, who appeared as a little human girl, but was evidently so much more.

Again he shook his head. "I don't think so. This felt….so very far away. Like, like, maybe in another galaxy, even. I mean, whoever, whatever Sarah is, I guess she could be in another galaxy. But why would I sense her there, when she could just as easily be here?"

"Good point." Megan bit her lip, gathering her courage. What she was about to ask… "Ragnar? Would you mind if I scanned your mind? Just a little? It might give us some answers, give _you_ some answers."

He thought for a long, long moment, during which Megan worried. Her breakup with Conner—Superboy—had involved mostly what he felt was her unnecessary (read: violation of his mind) use of her telepathic powers. While they had remained friends, it had still been something that had come between them.

Finally, Ragnar nodded. "If you think it will help, yes. You may."

"Alright. Come over here and sit on the couch by me." She knelt on the couch beside him, placing her hands on either side of his head. Not that she needed to do so, normally, but it helped. And, in the past, she'd been unable to read his mind directly, for some reason… "Now. Just…relax, close your eyes, don't try to concentrate on anything, just let it flow…." And a cascade of images flooded her mind.

_Blue skinned people, all crowded together, jammed together, the sounds of someone—man or woman, she couldn't tell—weeping, sobbing uncontrollably. A steady background murmur of rising tension. The sound of many voices, speaking a language she couldn't understand, speaking in terrified tones, someone in the background screaming…_

…_And two of the humanoids, one, a female, carrying him, fighting their way past the others, trying to get to someplace, someplace important. The two humanoids—Ragnar's parents, she assumed—talking in hushed tones, as if afraid of being overheard, after having finally made it to someplace without the crowd outside. They spoke in hushed whispers, again in a language she couldn't understand, the woman leaning against the man, sobbing, with him holding her, comforting her as best as he could. Then, Ragnar's point of view: the two of them placing him in a small chamber or pod, smiling at him through their tears, again saying words he both could and couldn't understand…a door or hatch closing…something happening, a sudden jolt or shock…_

…_Ragnar's gradual coming to self-awareness, there in the confines of his wrecked ship. She saw the questions in his mind: who am I? What am I? And, perhaps, to him, the most important one of all: am I alone? Why?_

_She caught fleeting glimpses of his life, growing up on the deserted planet where his ship had crashed. She saw how he learned his own Lesson of Fear: find those threats to your life and take action. Often lethal action. A harsh upbringing, but the only one available to him…_

…_and over and above all else, his growing desire, no, make that his growing __need__ for the company of others, others like himself, with whom he could talk._

_Then, the night when the predators had cornered him outside his ship, his unsuccessful attempts to drive them off, the ring, falling out of the sky…_

She broke off contact, both of them somewhat stunned by the sheer _impact_ of what they'd both just experienced. "Ragnar…I…" She didn't know how to continue.

Neither did he. "I…was unaware my mind contained such memories. But they must have been there…in the hidden corners of my mind." He looked off at nothing in particular. "Did you see anything like what you were looking for?"

"No. Not really." The image came back into her mind, of the crowded…place, where the infant Ragnar and his parents had been. It reminded her of documentaries she'd seen on Earthly television, about concentration camps during World War II. Could Ragnar's parents have come from such a place?

Where, really had they been? What had been going on? Since all she had to go by was what Ragnar himself had seen, she really couldn't make clear sense out of it, seeing as that he hadn't understood it himself at the time. Just a jumble of images that failed to add up to anything concrete.

But one thing she was sure of: whatever had been going on, back there, when Ragnar had been a baby, had been….something terrible.

"So." He said, sitting beside her on the couch. "Now what?"

"Huh? Uh, what do you mean?"

He scratched the back of his hand. "I mean, what do we do now? What do humans normally do, at this time of day?"

Hm. That _was_ a question, wasn't it? She'd taken it upon herself to show him around "the world," i.e. human civilization here in Happy Harbor, but she hadn't really had anything planned for that evening. "Well, most of the time, people here on Earth just…sit back and relax. Watch television or something." The hour was growing a bit late, and tomorrow would be his first actual day at high school.

"What is 'television'?"

"It's like watching something on a monitor screen, only it's for entertainment. Here." She switched on the small flat-screen in his room, turning it to one of her favorite channels, settling back with him there, to watch.

"Megan?"

"Hm?"

"Who is this 'Spongebob Squarepants'?"

…..

Far, far away, on the planet known as Oa, home of the Guardians of the Universe, a tense meeting was being held. The Guardians had received Arisia's report, and had found certain aspects of it….troubling. So they met, hovering in mid-air, in their green-lit conference room, to discuss the matter.

Ganthet spoke up, using the common telepathic communication the Guardians employed amongst themselves. {{So we are agreed, I take it?}}

{{Yes. This case of this wielder of a Golden light bears investigation. It is to be hoped,}} Sayd continued, hesitantly, {{that our fears have not come to pass so quickly.}}

Herupa Hondo Hu "spoke" up: {{But if they have? What will we do?}}

{{That depends on the exact nature of the…problem. If it is a problem; after all, there is nothing that says it _must_ be a problem, although it is, admittedly, safer to assume the worst, even as we hope for the best.}}

Valorex frowned in concentration. {{But should our worst fears be realized…what courses of actions are open to us?}}

Lianna drew a deep breath, not because she needed to, but because what she was about to say troubled her more than usual. {{As much as I hate to admit it, in a worst case scenario, there is always the alternative of sterilization. End the problem at its source.}}

{{Interesting you should mention the Source, as that may be, literally, the source of this…complication.}}

{{Yes. And if so, then sterilizing the planet will neither contain nor solve the issue.}}

{{Another thing,}} Ganthet spoke up, diverting the conversation away from a topic they were all clearly uneasy with, {{this 'Ragnar Rok.' He evidently came from a lost starcraft passing through the Forbidden Zone, at such a time in history, that we haven't even any records of it. It might behoove us to determine his point and planet of origin.}}

{{Agreed,}} they all chorused. The Guardians didn't like to consider destroying a whole world. Their mission was to _guard_, not destroy. But desperate times… {{So I believe I speak for all when I say, we must meet with and examine this new ring wielder. Are there any objections?}} There were none. {{Very well. I shall instruct Lantern Arisia to escort Ragnar Rok here, for examination.}}

….

Wednesday: Megan had walked a by now thoroughly bewildered Ragnar through the process of registration, and had assisted him in setting himself up for the necessary tests. Batman had provided Ragnar with a complete identity, school records and transcripts included, but there were still some hoops he'd have to jump through. Megan only hoped that nothing would go awry; he'd basically been raised in isolation, by a machine. He'd never had to learn such things as mathematics, algebra, and other courses.

She left him at the door of the testing room, and had gone on to her own classes. She'd arranged it (with a little Bat-help) that he should be in the same classes as she was, so she could help him over any hurdles that he was sure to encounter.

But at lunchtime, he joined her in the cafeteria. "So, how did the tests go?" she asked him.

"Quite well, I believe. The problems didn't seem all that difficult." He opened his milk cautiously. This was, after all, some sort of beverage from an Earth animal, and he wasn't sure he could trust it. Or if he would like it, assuming, even, that he could tolerate it. "I do not think I made a good impression on the teacher, however."

"Oh? How's that?" Megan took a bite of hamburger steak in her mouth.

"The way she looked at me. It was a suspicious look. Several times she asked me if I was cheating."

"Cheating? What did she mean?"

He shrugged, digging into his green bean casserole, another delightful Earthly experience for him. "I received the distinct impression that she thought I finished the tests too soon, too quickly. But I only answered them as best as I could, and saw no reason to wait any length of time before I answered. The answer was almost invariably clearly evident, anyway."

"Hmm." Chewing and swallowing. "So did your ship teach you about mathematics?" It must have, she thought.

"Actually no. Oh, it taught me some of the basics, addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, but nothing beyond that.

"But what was presented on the tests seemed easy enough. What is," and here he turned to face her a bit better, "_calculus_, anyway?"

….

Arisia stood before the Guardians' high council. "Lantern Arisia. You will bring this new color ring wielder to us. This is not to take the form of a formal arrest; you are not to use force. We merely wish to examine and interview him. And, once you have done that, report back here for further instructions."

She saluted, a salute common to her people. The Guardians themselves required no salutes, merely obedience. Sometimes, Arisia had thought, along with Hal Jordan, it might be said they required _blind_ obedience.

A somewhat ironic term, she'd thought, to be applied to those who had weaponized light itself.

"One question, masters. What if Ragnar Rok does not wish to comply with your requests?"

"_Then_ you are authorized to use force. But only then."

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2: Investigations

Gold Justice, Chapter 2: Investigations

Mount Justice: the team was busy doing absolutely nothing whatsoever.

Nightwing, true to his upbringing, was making use of the time to do some research. Many of the team members felt he sometimes overdid that, but truth was, that same research had saved their bacon on more than one occasion, so, really, no one had any complaints.

Currently, he was still locked in combat with the computer, trying to dredge up information on why Batman had not returned from the grave, the way so many other superheroes had, during the Blackest Night (as the media were calling it) episode. A great many heroes had resurrected as heart-hungry zombies. Many, but not all. Someone had pointed out that the original Dove, Don Hall, had not put in an appearance. And Don was decidedly dead.

Batman—Bruce Wayne—had been presumed dead. His friends and colleagues had seen the body, buried him in a private ceremony. But Batman had not returned as a monster. J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, and currently _de facto_ leader of the Justice League, had tasked Dick with the job of finding out why.

The more he studied the matter, the more he became convinced that Bruce Wayne simply wasn't dead. He didn't have any facts to back up his feeling; it bordered more closely on a hunch. Occam's Razor, which states that, in any given puzzle, the simplest answer is usually correct, tended to cause him to side with this theory. But he had no proof, either way.

The others were watching a football game on television, with a thoroughly bewildered Ragnar Rok among them. They'd tried to explain what "football" was and how it was played, but so far, he simply hadn't shown any indications of understanding it. The notion of people basically fighting over an inflated, inedible piece of animal hide struck him as outlandishly funny, though so far, he'd shown good manners and not laughed out loud.

Ragnar was trying to understand this "game," as his new friends called it, but every time he thought he'd made some headway towards that understanding, something, some new rule or regulation (of which there seemed to be a great many) would surface, and send him back into the depths of ignorance again. Finally, he just decided to quit trying to understand it. He just sat back in his place on the couch, and, rather than watch the game, watched his teammates, instead.

Everyone seemed very interested and even enthusiastic about the fate of the inedible object, and some of them shouted and showed signs of great excitement when one of the groups playing managed to acquire the "football" and made successful incursions into what was supposed to be the territory of the opposing team.

Miss Martian, his new friend, had told him about the food item they had tonight, something called _pizza,_ which, to his tastebuds, was certainly acceptable. His first meal on this strange planet had consisted of some_ burritos_, as they were called, and he had thought they tasted truly abominable. On the other hand, the _cheeseburgers_, another food item he'd encountered, had tasted very good indeed. Megan had said something about different metabolisms, chemical receptors, and just not being used to some kinds of food. She'd told him she'd introduce him to some kinds of food, which she called _Mexican_, by the way (and he wondered why a food item should be named after a country, a political entity?), that he'd enjoy. Privately, he'd made up his mind to at least pretend to enjoy whatever she showed him. He was coming to understand about human relationships, and the extremely complicated systems of interactions that existed between both individuals and groups. These were his friends now, a life-long dream come true, and he had no desire to alienate them, or give offense in any way. Had she directed him to chew and swallow broken glass, he probably would have done so, and politely asked for more.

But this pizza….

Well, it was good. Certainly adequate for a meal. He couldn't deny that. He didn't seem to have as much appreciation for it that the others did, but nobody held that against him.

One thing he _did_ understand about the current entertainment was what everyone was calling the "commercials," during which various human spokespeople endeavored to get other humans to trade this _money_ thing he kept hearing about for some item or service. _That_ he understood, and resolved to seek out these products or services once he received some of this _money._ Although he'd bought items before—when his mysterious friend, whom he knew only as "Sarah," and who appeared in the form of a little human girl, had given him _money_ and coached him into his first actual purchase on this world—he wondered how he should go about utilizing it. Some of the products/services didn't make a whole lot of sense to him, but others intrigued him, and he looked forward to a personal investigation of them.

"Isn't this _exciting,_ Ragnar? It's nearly half-time, and the score's tied!" Megan was sitting beside him on the couch, a look of exhilaration on her face. She then noticed the bewildered expression that he was so desperately trying to conceal, and her own enthusiasm waned a bit. He hated that; he so wanted his new friends to have a good time, and didn't like to think of himself as what he'd heard someone call a "wet blanket." That term hadn't made much sense to him, but he understood the meaning. "That's okay, Ragnar. Football's a complex game. It'd be surprising if you _did_ pick up on it right away, anyhow." She leaned against him, a comforting gesture that he seriously needed. Back on the world he'd come from, he'd often dreamed of meeting others, but he'd never had any idea that such meetings could get so _complicated._

A buzzer sounded, and everybody's head turned. Kid Flash, with the remote, paused the game. "Okay, people," Nightwing's voice came over the PA system. "Meeting in the conference room, now. We've got some new marching orders."

"Aww, _man._ Not now!" Kid Flash's look said, _it never fails._

"Yes, now. Hit the record button, Wally. Business first."

The conference room. "Now. First order of business is this: there've been a string of disappearances in and around the San Fran area. The victims are kids ranging from eight years old to sixteen. There doesn't seem to be any connection between them, other than that they're missing. The League wants us to look into it, find out the common denominator, and put a stop to it. So we will. Aqualad, you, me, Superboy, Kid Flash and Artemis are to go undercover, find out what's going on."

"Hey!" Megan gestured for attention. "Aren't you forgetting someone? Like, maybe, someone with shapeshifting powers? I'm ideal for undercover work."

"Sorry, M'gann, but I've got other plans for you. It seems something's come up. Arisia contacted the League—meaning she contacted Hal Jordan—and told him she was instructed to bring our new Lantern in to Oa." Some sounds of surprise went around the table. "No, he's not being arrested or anything." (And Ragnar breathed a private sigh of relief at those words…) "They apparently just want to ask him a few questions, nothing major. From what we've gathered, they're as puzzled as the rest of us regarding his ring changing like it did. And I'm sure they have some questions about this mysterious little girl, Sarah. Ragnar? You don't happen to have any more information about her, do you?"

"No, Nightwing, I do not. Up until very recently, I never thought of her as being anything more than she appeared to be. But events, as you have said, clearly indicate otherwise."

"Well, anyway, she's gonna escort you to Oa. Megan, I figured you might want to go with him." He paused. "To be perfectly honest, I'd feel better if you did, too. Sometimes the Guardians can be a little…well. Perhaps the word 'officious' is inaccurate, but it comes close. I find it hard to put my total trust in them. It seems like they tend to see the Big Picture, and that picture is, frankly, larger than my comfort zone. So. You up for an all-expense paid trip to Oa?"

She definitely was.

…..

The ship under Arisia's command conveyed them all, including Hal Jordan, one of Earth's Green Lanterns, to the homeworld of the Corps. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," said the golden Green Lantern, making an effort to reassure Ragnar. "You haven't committed any crimes or anything. But power rings don't just _change_ like that. Frankly, I'm curious, too. Do you know at what point it actually changed?" The four of them were on the bridge of the ship, with Oa already looming up on the monitor. Although by no means overpopulated, Oa was clearly inhabited: lines of glowing green energy radiated outward from the central power battery, with Corps members flying to and from the planet.

"No." Ragnar drew his attention back from the viewscreen. "It had been refusing to fully charge for about a day or two, but I didn't think anything of that, at the time. I wouldn't have noticed that it had actually changed, myself, had not Sarah mentioned it."

"They'll probably ask a lot about her, too." She glanced at the screen. "You don't know anything about her?"

"Only that, whatever she is, or may be…she is my friend."

Arisia blew out a small sigh, blowing her blond bangs back from her forehead. _I really hope so, Ragnar._

While Ragnar went into the council chamber to meet with the Guardians, Arisia, Hal, and Megan decided to spend the time in the large café style commissary, that served the entire Corps, or at least, those of them currently on Oa. While Hal went to place their order, Arisia took the time to study the young Martian. "So. I hear you've been helping our newfound friend adjust to life on Earth?"

"_Our"?_ Thought Megan. _When had __her__ friend become an "our"?_ But she saw what the young Green Lantern was saying. "Yes, it's been…an experience, getting him set up to live on Earth. I'd forgotten all about how confusing Earth life can be, to someone not familiar with it."

"Culture shock, I get it. So." Arisia propped her elbow on the table, and rested her head on her hand. "How are things going between you two?"

"W-what do you mean?" Miss Martian stammered.

"Oh, come on. His own shadow doesn't stick any closer to him than you do. I've seen it. So. One girl to another: how's it coming?"

Hal rejoined them, carrying their preferred beverages: crystal water for Megan, coffee for himself, and some fruit juice concoction for Arisia. Miss Martian studied her water glass very carefully. "I…we're just good friends. I mean," she continued, flustered, "Somebody had to show him around, and I know from personal experience how, how _confusing_ life on Earth can be."

Arisia smiled a knowing smile, nestling her chin in her hand. "Mm-_hm_. And, of course, that's the _only_ reason you're showing him around. Right?" Her smile got wider. _"Not!"_

"What are you two talking about?" Hal's attention went from one to the other. Arisia appeared to be having fun, while Megan looked like a doctor had just told her she desperately needed an emergency enema on the spot.

"Oh, nothing, Hal. Just girl talk."

_Sshurrre it is,_ thought Hal. Arisia looked like a cat playing with a mouse. He could guess what it was about. He turned to Miss Martian. "I heard the Cowboys won, last night." _After all, I am a superhero; I'm LICENSED to rescue damsels in distress._

_Spoilsport,_ thought Arisia.

….

Meanwhile, in the council chambers of the Guardians, Ragnar was fielding questions, both verbal and telepathic. The Guardians had scanned his mind quite carefully, but had not found any answers to their questions. {{So, this 'Sarah'…you've no idea where she could have come from, or even who or what she is, in actuality?}}

"That's correct," he replied. He was beginning to lose patience with these strange blue beings. "I've some questions of my own…."

{{We will ask the questions, here.}}

"And you will be asked one. How you respond will determine my level of cooperation in the future. The choice is yours." He paused a moment. "Perhaps the one known as Arisia spoke in error when she said you desired this." He stood before them, and crossed his arms, an expression of determination on his face.

Silence. The Guardians looked at each other. If they were communicating among themselves, they were not revealing that fact to Ragnar. Then, {{Very well. Ask your question.}}

"Where did I come from? My friend has probed my mind, revealing that my parents, at least, I assume them to be, fled what can best be described as desperate circumstances. I would know where they came from."

Another pause from the blue beings around him. For a moment, it seemed as though they weren't going to answer him. Then Ganthet gave out the telepathic equivalent of a sigh. {{The truth, young Ragnar, is that we do not know. Our records go back nearly ten billion Earth years, but that does not mean they comprise a complete account of all that has transpired all across the entirety of the universe during all those ten billion years. And we can find no record at all of anything relating to the events you relayed to us. From the images in your mind, it would appear that your people were fleeing some great disaster, and that your parents placed you in some sort of escape pod. How that relates to you, how you came to be here now, we are unsure.

{{We are, however, greatly interested in two seemingly unrelated events: one, the circumstances that forced your parents to send you off into the relative safety of the escape module, and that the ring you wear has apparently changed its complete nature in some manner with which we are not familiar. But it may well be the two are connected in some way.}}

"Then…I am no closer to the truth about me than I ever was." He couldn't keep the despondency out of his voice.

Ganthet considered for a long time. Then, {{Young Ragnar. This matter of your discovering your origins is of course a personal matter, but might I suggest another, perhaps more practical, perspective?}}

"I…am listening."

{{Where you come from is, of course, as we have said, a mystery. But some things are clear. Your parents were fleeing what gives all the indications of an extinction event, one of considerable magnitude. They evidently felt as that there was a good chance they themselves would not survive it. So they endeavored to save you. And while we do not know the nature of this event, which, admittedly, bears further investigation, it cannot be denied they succeeded in at least one of their goals. What happened to them…is not completely clear. We do not know if they perished before or during the crash of your ship or if their demise occurred afterward.

{{But if you will accept the advice of one who has lived long…perhaps, just perhaps, it might be better for you to focus more on your future than your past.}}

He bowed his head. "I… You are wise, Guardian Ganthet. My friend Megan has told me much the same. It would be, as the human saying goes, 'nice' to know my origins…but regardless of any of that, I must try to determine where I shall go from here."

{{Well spoken. We have no further questions for now. You may rejoin your friends.}}

But once Ragnar had left, Lianna turned to Ganthet. {{I did not know,}} she began, {{that you were of the habit of saying that in which you did not wholly believe.}}

Ganthet looked steadily at the door through which Ragnar had left. For a long, long moment he paused, his thoughts shrouded from the others. Then, {{There is a human term: _haunted._ It refers to events in one's past affecting one's present and future, usually in a negative way. I have never really given it much credence.

{{Until now.}}

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3: Beasts

Gold Justice, Chapter 3: Beasts

_I don't own the Green Lantern Corps, Young Justice, nor the New Gods. Just so's we're square._

"Highfather, you mustn't be out here! It's too dangerous!" Orion, Highfather Izaya's adopted son, was pleading with his father, even as they both flew into the recently wrecked part of the floating city of New Genesis. "Let me do battle with this monster!"

Izaya suppressed a smile. He was proud of his adopted son, but being Highfather required much from him. It was his place to remain stern with his son, especially with _this _son, or at least, maintain the appearance of being so. "My people are in danger, Orion. Were you in my place, would you cower behind your children, send them into battle against such odds? Do you think so little of me?"

"Of course not, Highfather! But is this not the very thing you have trained me, and the others, _for?_" He paused a moment, guiding his flying harness alongside Izaya. "Do _you_ think so little of _us?_ You know that each of us would gladly lay down our lives, not just for New Genesis, but for you, _personally_. You are needed as leader, not warrior!"

"Do not presume to lecture me on my duties, duties I was performing long before you were born. I know that many of our finest warriors have fallen in battle with this creature, this Armageddon beast. I will not sacrifice more." They landed, and he turned to his son. "Besides, I've another task for you. Listen, now, and take heed; there may not be much time.

"I will go contend with this monster. I have delegated Lightray to evacuate the city, and Metron to his acquisition of knowledge regarding the beast, which he would do, anyway. But I need _you_ to stand in reserve. And to lead, if need be."

"You mean…." Orion couldn't even form the thought, let alone the words. All of a sudden, his throat felt tight.

Izaya tapped the young god on the chest. "If I fall, you must lead the people away to safety. That is more important than any one battle. I, and I alone, have the wherewithal to face it, even for a moment. But I will see to the safety of my people, my children. In whatever way is needed.

"_This_ is where you are needed most, Orion. Now, go. Obey the words of your father." Pause. "I will join you all as soon as I can."

"But-*"

"_Go._ Now!" Such was Izaya's tone that Orion immediately took to the air, even before the command had registered in his conscious mind. He turned back, once, to see Izaya, the only father he'd ever known or would acknowledge as a father, as family, turn from him, setting his face resolutely towards the sound of the monster's rampage.

The beast had found itself in this strange place, but its unthinking mind was incapable of speculation as to how it had arrived here. It really didn't care, anyway. All it knew was, there were living beings here, living beings it could slaughter, driven by the rage within its soul.

"Creature! Face me!" Izaya stood tall, taking in the thing before him. Huge, gray, with numerous boney spikes protruding from its shoulders, elbows, and knees, the monster was powerfully muscled, and moved far faster than its bulk would normally imply. Now it looked up, almost, thought Highfather, in surprise that someone should _actually_ _challenge_ it. Then a slow grin of complete savagery spread across the thing's hideous face. It turned towards Highfather, bunching its muscles to attack.

Izaya knew better than to give it anything even remotely like a fair chance. With one hand he blasted the monster a full kilometer back into the destroyed zone, and, with the same thought, readied another attack. The monster had to be stopped, his people safeguarded. But rumor had it that this _thing_ had once nearly killed his ancient enemy, Darkseid himself. And Highfather had personally contended with Darkseid; he knew the kind of power it would take to do that.

The monster leapt out of the wreckage of the buildings it had already demolished, moving with a speed such as Highfather had never seen. But Izaya had not become the warrior he had by making ill-considered assessments; already he was in motion, and had readied another blast, this one driving the monster back into the ruins of his beloved city…but this time, the beast recovered quickly, so quickly it almost caught him. He backpedaled, using his power of flight, one ability the monster didn't seem to have, to attack it from above. It was driven into the foundation of the floating city, making the entire city ring like a gong. Highfather kept his distance, observing the creature with a practiced eye. He could learn much about the beast by its rapid recovery, but the monster had one gift that made the battle anything but even: its set of powers changed from one moment to the next. What it couldn't do one minute, the next minute, it could.

This complicated things.

Highfather knew better than to close with the beast. He was not here to go head-to-head with the monster, in a personal, driven-by-ego battle for supremacy, as Darkseid had. No, his job here was to first see if there was not some way to destroy the monster once and for all, or, failing that (a failure that, if all reports were true, seemed likely), stall it long enough for his people to escape. New Genesis could be restored; lives lost in battle could not.

But the monster seemed capable of learning some rudimentary things, for this time, it simply appeared in the air between him and the ground, almost as though it had teleported there, this time without announcing itself by its usual roar. But Izaya was ready, even for this; with a skill born of aeons, he dodged, and, with his indestructible scepter, struck the beast from behind, adding his own immense strength to the monster's own initial speed, and, not incidentally, deflecting the thing back into the ruins it had just emerged from. As always, he was careful to keep the creature away from any other part of his city, and planned his next move accordingly. This area, this wreckage of the city, was by now depopulated, and therefore a battleground infinitely to be preferred over one that was still occupied.

This time, the creature barely hit the ground before it turned, and, with blinding speed, leapt again, this time—to his horror—not towards Izaya, but in the direction of the non-evacuated parts of the city. What rudimentary intelligence it seemed to possess must be telling it that he would have no choice but to follow, and thus lose some tactical advantage.

Once more, he struck it from behind, again careful not to close with the beast. This time, it seemed to anticipate the maneuver, and turned in mid-air, almost catching him. But "almost" wasn't good enough with one who'd fought countless battles against numberless foes, and who fought with the skill and courage of Izaya the Inheritor.

Again the monster crashed into the ruins, and again it emerged with such speed as to have been merely a flicker to any human vision. But Izaya's vision was far superior to any human's, and he once again deflected the monster, dealing it such a blow as would have split a mountain in half.

Highfather considered. He could, using his mother box, open up a boom tube to swallow the horror whole, send it somewhere far, far away, even to another universe. But it was his place to safeguard those same universes; sending this creature of death there would run counter to everything he believed in.

But the creature was not stopping. All he'd managed to do thus far was to distract it, slow it down. And, with the devastation already around them, it was only a matter of time until the battle spilled over into some part of the city not uninhabited.

Sighing in resignation, he readied his scepter, charging it with the very energies gathered from the Source Itself. No matter how powerful or how adaptive this monster was, its power was as nothing compared to the power of the Source. "Know you this, creature. This is a singular honor I bestow upon you this day: the Life Equation itself. None can stand before its might. Not even you." And with that, he willed the scepter to unleash its smallest bolt, aiming at the monstrosity in front of him, that was even now charging him, once again, showing no signs of even being winded by the battle….

….

The three sitting in the café on Oa looked up. "What was that?" asked Arisia.

"Sounded like thunder. But that's impossible. This is _Oa._" Hal rose. "Maybe I'd better go check..."

"War in heaven," murmured Miss Martian. Her face wore the look of one distracted, her eyes wide and vacant, seeing nothing of this world. "Say what?" asked Arisia.

But the green skinned girl had fainted dead away.

…..

Mt. Justice: Nightwing was poring over the details of the kidnapping ring the team had busted. It hadn't been a pretty sight; according to these records, some of the girls (and a couple of the boys) had already been sold into some form of slavery. _Probably sexual,_ he thought, with a grimace. He made a mental note to himself: once they caught up with those responsible, use just a _little_ extra force than was absolutely necessary. One of the benefits of being a largely covert team was, less oversight.

But he couldn't make sense of some of the records they'd acquired. According to these files, the kidnappers had apparently been instructed—by who, it was unclear-to search for a specific genotype, had, in fact, been very selective in who they targeted. Usually kidnappers weren't that picky, especially those who kidnapped in groups. It was like they were _looking_ for something. Something in particular.

Nor could he follow the money trail, either. Whoever was backing this ring was extremely careful to leave no trace of their existence save for the money itself, locked away in uninformative gold bullion. Not even a secret bank account. Evidently, the kidnappers didn't trust even an anonymous overseas account to remain that way. _Smart of them._ Almost too smart.

He wished M'gann were here. She could have probed the minds of their captives and perhaps gotten some answers that, so far, had eluded him. Then he smiled a rueful smile. _But that's cheating._

He called the Watchtower with the news he'd uncovered. J'onn J'onzz took the call personally, this being a priority with the League. "No traces leading anywhere? Highly unusual." He frowned. Given his normal severe expression, it was sometimes hard to tell when the Martian was frowning and when he wasn't. But there was no doubt he was frowning now. "And no record of those victims not accounted for?"

"None, sir. It's like they vanished from the face of the Earth."

"Hm. We must not discount that possibility, but the odds are against it…."

"Possibility, sir?"

"As you said, they seemed to have vanished from the face of the Earth. There could, conceivably, be an extraterrestrial connection. That also could account for your inability to trace the source of their funding. Gold, after all, is commonplace on some worlds. It could be used as a unit of exchange. It is something we need to keep in mind." Pause. "How are the victims faring? They were not injured, were they?"

"No, sir. In fact, they were actually treated quite well. More so than is the norm with most kidnappers, I mean. The suspects seemed to've been looking for a specific genotype. But the captives we liberated are back with their families. We have informed them that they may be called upon to testify in court, of course."

"Of course. Now. Do you have any data as to what specific genotype the kidnappers were seeking?"

"Not much data, sir. Apparently, it's very rare. I'm transmitting that data now." He touched another button. "Whatever it is, it's nothing like what the Reach was seeking, not the metagene. Something even more rare, more subtle. You'll see, once you've gone over the data."

"Hmm, yes. I can see…this is odd."

"Sir?"

"From what you have sent me, the specific genotype our kidnappers were looking for could, conceivably, even be of extraterrestrial origin. I've seen similar genetic patterns in some of my own people."

"Martians? They were looking for a gene type found on _Mars?_"

"Not exclusively. But I have seen genetic patterns similar to this among my own kind, it is true." He paused a moment, running the data through the Watchtower's powerful computers. "And it appears in other races, too. Thanagar, Daxam, Raan….Nightwing, this…could be bigger than we suspected."

"You said it. Uh, I mean, yes, sir. If these kidnappers were looking for a strand of genetic material or pattern common to several extraterrestrial races…"

"I'll have to give the matter some thought. Until then, continue your own research. You may uncover clues I do not, and, anyway, I will need your own conclusions for any degree of verification. Watchtower out."

…..

"—telling you, I don't remember saying anything." Miss Martian looked from Arisia to Hal. "What did I say?" She was just now recovering from a highly embarrassing fainting spell.

"It sounded like you said, 'war in heaven.'" Arisia supplied.

"Well, I don't remember saying it. Sorry. Maybe I was, I don't know, daydreaming or something…"But privately, she doubted that.

The people of Mars had a long and interesting association with genetics, science, and mysticism, not necessarily in that order. And although Megan was not truly a _green_ Martian, she nonetheless had inherited traits from ancestors whose involvement with the esoteric arts was quite personal, and even, in some cases, intimate.

Ragnar joined them. "There you are. I am glad to have found you all. This is a very large place, and its layout confuses me."

"Not to worry, Ragnar," chuckled Hal. "It confuses me, too. And I'm no newcomer here, either."

Ragnar turned to Megan. "Are you well?"

"Y-yes, Ragnar. I'm, uhm, okay. Why do you ask?"

"You…it seemed like something was bothering you, or that something was wrong. Do you feel alright?"

"Yes," she sighed. Truthfully, she _didn't_ feel very well, and for reasons she couldn't explain. Somehow, she felt…a kind of nervousness, a kind of anxiety, a sort of quiet dread that just wouldn't go away. It was mentally and emotionally draining to her. "I'm fine, Ragnar." She tried changing the subject. "Are the Guardians through with you?"

"I believe so. They said they have no more questions for me right now. It was just as well; I had very few answers to give. Of course," and here he paused, a very small smile crossing his face, a face that M'gann couldn't recall a smile being on for more than a moment or two. "In this, we seemed to have much in common."

Hal was still looking around for the source of the sound they'd all heard a moment ago, but there was nothing to indicate its origin. He was only half-aware of the conversation at the table, as he scanned the rest of the café.

The other beings in the café did not seem alarmed, or even aware that there had been any unusual sound. Since Oa's atmosphere was carefully controlled by the Guardians, storms didn't just happen. The occasional rainfall, but… "Arisia. You heard that sound, too, didn't you?"

"Yeah, Hal. Why?"

"Nobody else seems to have. Don't you find that…a bit peculiar?"

She frowned, scanning the café even as he had, moments ago. "Now that you mention it, yeah, I do." She checked in with her ring: no unusual atmospheric conditions, no explosions, no meteors… "You think we should check with the Guardians?"

"Wouldn't hurt." But a few moments later they learned that the Guardians themselves had not detected any out of the ordinary reverberations in the planet's atmosphere. "I'm beginning to get a baaaad feeling about this."

"Hal," she whispered, "you think it might have something to do with…" And she glanced pointedly, at Ragnar, seated by Megan, the two of them conversing in low tones. He appeared to be asking her if she was alright; there was concern evident in his face and voice. She seemed to be endeavoring to reassure him that she was, without a whole lot of success.

Even though Ragnar was not that familiar with Miss Martian or her people (whether green or white), he nonetheless was an astute observer of his immediate environment. He'd had to be. After all, it was one's immediate environment that could kill one most immediately. And, ever since his arrival on Earth, and his making friends with some of its people, he'd come to include them in the "immediate environment" category, though not for any pure survival benefit_._ Put simply, he was concerned about his friends. Growing up, he'd often dreamed, fantasized about having friends, other people in his life, but the reality of actually having some had taught him a thing or two.

One took care of one's friends. That was only right.

"If you're sure…" he was saying.

"I….I do seem to have a bit of a headache. I'm sure it's nothing." She saw them looking at her. "If we're done here…I really should be getting back to Earth. I don't know but what Nightwing and the others could need me. Could need us both."

"I'll go check," Hal volunteered, rising from his seat, and lifting off into the calm air of Oa with one smooth motion. From the seat by where he'd just been, Arisia looked at the two across from her with a mixture of concern and amusement. Concern because Miss Martian was clearly _not_ alright, though she was hiding it well, and amusement at the depth of concern for her Ragnar was displaying. A smile quirked the corners of her mouth. It didn't take an astronautics engineer to see where _this_ was headed.

…..

"You are sure the monster is securely fastened?" Highfather was saying, looking upon the scene before him with equal parts concern and authority. His last blast at the doomsday creature had apparently either killed it or incapacitated it to the point of being essentially the same thing, but he was taking no chances. Not when the lives of his people were at stake.

"Quite," replied Metron, in his usual controlled monotone. "Those bands are of solid inertron. They are unbreakable, no matter how strong the creature is. And you can see they encompass it more than adequately." And they did. Izaya had toyed with the notion of simply encasing the beast within a solid shell of inertron, but that would have rendered it impossible to take any readings or perform any tests on it. And, Highfather admitted, Metron was right about at least one thing: the opportunity to acquire knowledge was not to be scorned. The more they knew about this monster, the better they'd be able to deal with other, similar threats that may come. True, by all accounts, this was the only one of its kind, but that did not mean lessons learned here could not be applied to other dangers.

A stray thought had gone through Izaya's head: this creature was formidable enough to make an excellent living weapon against Darkseid. But even in the instant of thinking it, he completely rejected the thought, a little embarrassed at himself for having thought it in the first place. It was one thing for the living to be _soldiers,_ to fight in a cause they believed in. It was a very different thing for a living being, any living being, even one such as this, to be _used_ as a weapon. That was the way Darkseid thought, and Izaya was definitely not Darkseid.

Orion was looking at his father with barely concealed awe. "Highfather, I…" Words failed him. Then he knelt before his lord, holding his helmet in the crook of his arm. "I humbly ask your forgiveness."

Izaya was startled. "For what, my son? And, please, rise from the floor. I can hear you better when we are face to face."

Orion arose, but he would not meet his father's gaze. "I…I thought it foolhardy of you to go to do battle with this monster alone. Yet you prevailed where so many did not. I…ask, no, I _beg _your forgiveness for doubting you." And he bowed his head.

Izaya smiled, and placed his hand upon his son's shoulder. "No forgiveness is needed, my son. You did nothing I myself did not do. But, if you so desire it, for your own sake, yes, I forgive you." Smile. "But perhaps next time—should there be one, which there hopefully will not be—you will have learned to trust me better. I know what I am doing." _Most of the time._

"My lord?" Metron's voice alerted him.

"Yes?"

"My readings indicate the creature may be regaining consciousness…" Even as he said it, the powerful form before them began to twist and strain against the bonds encasing it. "While I am not one to lightly advocate the removal of a potential source of such great knowledge, it might be in everyone's interest to decide what we wish to do with the creature. Just because those bands are unbreakable does not mean the creature cannot harm us, even bound as it is."

"Indeed." Highfather thought for the briefest of moments. Then, "Ready a transport tube. One place even this creature cannot escape from is from within the event horizon of a black hole."

By now, the monster was visibly straining against the unbreakable bands, its eyes covered, in case it should suddenly "develop" eye beam weaponry. Sounds that could barely be reminiscent of normal speech patterns found in many humanoids emerged, growing stronger by the minute.

The gods conferred, silently, then joined their mother boxes to form a single boom tube, opening up to a spot just outside a supermassive black hole in the center of the galaxy. Metron's Mobius chair's tractor beam picked up the now-struggling form and sent it hurtling into the tube, and the waiting darkness beyond.

…

Ragnar was still concerned about Megan, and insisted that she be seen by someone, just to make sure she was alright. On Oa, that "someone" was actually a fully automated room equipped with what were, to the Guardians, state of the art medical diagnostic and treatment machines. Arisia had accompanied her into the room, and stood by while the machines probed her. "Uhm, Arisia?"

"Mm?"

"I, I have a confession to make. Can you keep a secret?"

Arisia cocked her head at M'gann, lying prone on the table, with the machines scanning her. "I guess that depends on the secret. I mean, if you're about to tell me you're secretly planning to destroy the entire universe, or something along those lines, then, no, I can't. Somehow I doubt it's that serious, though. But any _ordinary_ secret, yeah, I can do that. Why? What is it?"

"Well, it's just…I don't want Ragnar to find out. I'm actually a white Martian, not a green one."

Arisia considered. She knew about the two races of Mars, and knew why M'gann preferred to be in the disguise she was. "Well, I certainly won't tell him. But don't you think _you_ should? I mean…"

"I, I couldn't. I mean, I, I look like…"

The golden GL crossed and recrossed her legs. "Sooo, what you're actually saying is …you want to _deceive_ him? Is that it?" She leaned forward. "Does that seem like the right thing to do, to you?"

"I, I.."

"M'gann, I can only tell you one thing, from my personal experience about that. There's all kinds of monsters, but the very worst kind look no different than us. It's what they _do_ that makes 'em monsters."

No response.

"M' gann…listen to me. I'm not exactly the fount of all wisdom on these matters, but…relationships can't be built on lies. One lie leads to another, and then there's no end. So don't you think you should tell him, now?"

Megan was as silent as the machines scanning her. Then, "Yes. I, I guess you're right. It's just…"

"You're afraid. You're afraid he'll find you repulsive, is that it?"

"Y-yes. Basically."

"Won't he find out sooner or later, regardless?"

More silence. Then she sighed. "You're right. I guess I should get this, this out in the open, before…" But she was interrupted by the chime signaling the end of the scan. _"Subject: M'gann M'orzz. Place of origin: sector 2814, Sol system, Mars. Species: white Martian. Subject is in good health; no medical problems detected. Diagnosis: subject has been subjected to mental and/or emotional stress, resulting in brief period of unconsciousness. Prognosis: excellent."_

Megan got up from the table. She didn't look all that reassured. _I just wish my social life had a similar prognosis._

…

Hal and a nervous Ragnar were waiting outside the 'doc room. Ragnar couldn't keep still. He was intensely worried about his friend, and was pacing the floor. Hal was privately amused by his concern, and found it touching. He was reminded of the old Earth sitcoms of an expectant father pacing in the waiting room of a hospital. "It's most probably nothing to worry about, Ragnar. She probably just got tired or something. Or, worse case scenario, she may have some sort of bug like the flu or something. Easily treatable. Especially here."

Ragnar continued to pace, around and around and around, arms behind his back. "I have discovered many things since my arrival in your star system, Hal Jordan." He stopped, and turned to Jordan. "Do you know what the two most useless words in the English language are?"

"That sounds like a trick question…"

"'Don't worry.' I am really unsure why anyone ever bothers to use them in the first place."

Hal chuckled. "Ragnar…I'd almost believe you were in love."

Again Ragnar stopped. "What is that?"

"What's what?"

"'In love.' What is that?"

_Now I've done it. Open mouth, insert foot, close mouth. Rinse and repeat._ "Er, well, it's where you care about someone, someone special, in a very intense way."

Ragnar stopped dead in his tracks. "Do I…do you think I…do you think that is what it is? That I am this 'in love'? With Megan?"

Jordan held his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Don't put me on the spot like that. _I_ don't know. What do _you_ think? _That's_ what matters."

"I, I don't know. I have never before felt this way towards another person, but then again, I have only recently come to know any other people to begin with. So I don't know the answer to th-*" And the doors _swooshed_ open, as Arisia and Megan emerged.

He immediately ran up to her. "Megan! You are well?" M'gann couldn't help but be touched by the expression on his face. He'd really been worried about her. "Yes, Ragnar, I'm fine. But…" She paused, looking around the room. Except for Hal Jordan and Arisia, there was no-one else there. Still, that was two too many. "We…we need to talk. Somewhere private." She couldn't look him in the face.

"C'mon, Hal. Let's make ourselves scarce." Arisia levered Hal Jordan out of the small lobby, and down the hallway. "I wanna show you this _really special_ drink vending machine that's _just right around the corner and down the hall,_ here…."

Back in the waiting room, Miss Martian turned to a still-clearly worried Ragnar. "Ragnar, I'm fine. The autodoc checked me out and said it was just…stress of some sort. Nothing to be alarmed about.

"But there's something about me you need to know. Something big. A-and, when you know about it…well, we'll see. You…you may not want to be around me anymore, or at least as much."

"Megan, you aren't making sense. You're perfectly fine, but, but there's something about you that I don't know that would make me not want to have anything to do with you? What could that possibly be? I don't understand." What ever was she talking about?

She turned away. "It's just…Ragnar, this isn't the way I really look. I'm not a green Martian at all. And even if I was, I still wouldn't look like this.

"But what I actually look like is-*"

"Like this?" She turned, and gasped. He'd projected, with his ring, a golden light image of her in her monstrous white Martian form.

"That—that's it exactly. How, how did you…?"

He came over to her, and, very deliberately, took her in his arms. It was the gesture of a supportive friend, with just a touch of the romantic in it. He pressed her head against his shoulder. "I've known, suspected, ever since that first conversation we had, outside your school. I don't know how I knew, but somehow I did. I wasn't sure but…And then, when you read my mind, it was clearer. I saw an image of what you look like in your own mind. So I've known."

"And, and you're not…disgusted? I mean, I, I look like a monster!"

He pressed her close to him. "You look," he said firmly, "like my friend."

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4: Recognition

Gold Justice, Chapter 4: Recognition

"—don't understand," Kid Flash was saying, as he walked down the corridors of Mt. Justice with Nightwing, "How can these guys be looking for an _extraterrestrial genetic component_ in kids here on Earth? I mean, isn't that kinda a contradiction in terms?"

"Not really. Many scientists believe the reason there are so many humanoid races out there—races that, for all practical purposes, may as well be human—is not an accident. It may be all the humanoid races in the galaxy are interrelated in some way. A common ancestor or ancestors or something. Anyway, the similarities are just too great for it to be simply a product of converging evolutionary lines. The simplest answer is that we're all descended from some other race, some race that went about the galaxy, spreading its people to this planet, then to that. Different environments produced slightly different genotypes, but overall…we're all related, basically."

"So these guys…." Kid Flash struggled to wrap his mind around the concept. "…are basically looking for a genetic pattern that, that could be literally anywhere?"

"It seems so. And that means...their organization must come from off-planet."

Wally mulled that one over a bit. "So…now what?"

…

So immense was the black hole's event horizon, that the monster was sucked in immediately. The creature's incredible constitution was hardly affected by the massive gravity well, and the inertron held firm. At first.

But no matter how strong the monster was, no matter what its adaptation level was, it was still made of matter. And matter was subject to some strange effects, there in such a warped area of spacetime.

So the monster's tissue actually began to _lengthen_, to stretch out as though it were Earthly taffy, being pulled between two points. Anything else would have been killed outright, but the monster was not able to feel pain in the conventional sense. But it could sense opportunity.

And so while its body elongated, there, falling towards infinity, it took that chance to shuck off the bands that had held it, to discard them like a pair of old socks. The bands themselves remained unaffected by the tremendous gravity pull, but now they enclosed nothing….

If the monster could be said to have any emotions in any way similar to that of humans, it might be said that it looked forward to coming events with eagerness. What would it get to kill this time?

And how many?

…..

On the flight back to Earth, Ragnar stood at the bridge of the ship. Arisia was the only other person on the bridge at the time, and she noticed he looked steadfastly out at the ever-changing panorama of stars depicted on the screen.

She studied him from out of the corner of her eye. The blue skin made it hard to judge his age, and, of course, Ragnar himself had never bothered to figure up just exactly how old he was, the whole function of Earthly "years" still being a relatively new concept to him, but, no matter what his physical age, she could nonetheless detect that particular aura that people exude who are simply young and inexperienced. "So, Ragnar. Were the Guardians able to tell you anything about your parents?"

Sigh. "No. Evidently, they knew no more than I. And I know my ship's records were damaged in the crash…so it may well be that such answers will always elude me.

"But they were right about one thing: what answers I seek lie more in the time to come than times past."

She leaned back against a chair. "M'gann told you?"

"Yes. But she told me nothing I didn't already know. Why such a thing should bother her, I do not understand."

Arisia chuckled. It was hard to see the former yellow lantern as being anything other than the confused boy she now perceived him to be. At one time, she had been authorized to use deadly force against him. Now that seemed like way overkill. "Don't sweat it, as they say on Earth. Give it time, you'll understand. But people—people everywhere—tend to be a bit caught up in outward appearance, sometimes. It's a, well, I started to say a human thing, but it seems to go beyond that. Whether you're biologically human or not hardly matters." She changed the subject, sitting down in the chair. "Where there any star charts on your ship's computer? Anything at all that might be used to trace its line of flight?"

"None I could decipher. That doesn't mean they weren't there, only that I lacked the skill to decode them. Perhaps…" A faraway look came over his face. "Perhaps, at some point, someone might-*" But the alarm took that exact second to go off, a strident claxon that demanded attention.

"_Warning. Warning. Extrauniversal incursion detected. Alert. Alert. All Green Lanterns in the vicinity of sector 0875 are directed to the following coordinates."_ A group of numbers ran across the holographic screen. Arisia took one look at it. "Hm. That's off the beaten path…looks like Tamar Roj and 'X'lyn are already on it." A frown marred her perfect features for just a moment. "But for it to be announced like this…it had to be something of considerable import. Well," She straightened up from the console, "Once we get you two back to Earth, we'll swing by and take a look, just to see if they need any help."

…

The monster had found itself on a barren, inhospitable world. It crossed and recrossed the globe, frequently at speeds of up to Mach 2. It could not fly, but it had infinite energy, and tore through the landscape on foot, looking for something to kill.

But it found nothing. Not so much as a blade of grass to uproot. What intelligence the beast had found that not only decidedly unsatisfying, but puzzling, to boot. Most worlds, similar to this, that it could—in its own limited way—remember had some form of life.

Lacking anything to kill, it tore into the nearby mountainside. Said mountainside happened to contain a dormant supervolcano, which, under such stress, refused to remain dormant.

The resulting eruption hurled the beast into the cold vacuum of space.

…..

Mt. Justice: M'gann and Ragnar had been briefed on the latest case the team had been handed, that of the oddly selective kidnappers. "And we've already sent the suspects on to the authorities, but that doesn't mean the case is over with, my any means. Megan, we may need your telepathy if we can manage to lasso any more."

"You know I'll do what I can, Nightwing. But you say these kidnappers were looking for some genotype or strand of DNA that's occasionally found in extraterrestrial races?"

"According to J'onn, yes. But why, we don't yet know."

"Hm….I wonder…."

"What?"

"Well, there are legends on Mars about a certain bloodline as being endowed with certain…qualities, I suppose you'd say. Nothing super, exactly, just….a sort of a predilection to being more easily manipulated. At one time, " and here she paused, clearly embarrassed. It was just her and Nightwing, Ragnar having taken this opportunity to get his living quarters in better shape. "At one time, it was rumored—never verified, mind you, just rumored—that a certain bloodline was desirable for eugenics experiments. But that was hundreds of thousands, maybe close to a million years ago."

"Well, there may or may not be a connection. I'll keep researching it, and add in your information as well. But these 'experiments'…just what sort of experiments are we talking about?"

She shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "It was primarily with the white Martians. Those records have been lost, but what has come down is that the experimenters were seeking to, well, _improve,_ I guess you'd say, the Martian species." She held up her hands. "That's really all I know. Whether Uncle J'onn has any more information, that I don't know."

"Okay." He paused. "So what we have is—maybe—some interplanetary organization that is looking for a certain genotype. For purposes unknown."

"Basically."

"Alright." Then, "How goes things with our new member?"

"Quite well. He's a fast learner, but, growing up the way he did, I guess he had to be. And he's already aced the entrance tests to high school, even though," and here she frowned, "even though he tells me he never really had all that much in the way of an education. The basics were really all his ship taught him. Yet…he managed to _figure out_ calculus, just from the problems presented on the test. I had to promise Mrs. McGillacudy that he wasn't cheating."

"So he's a math-head?"

"He certainly seems to have a brain for puzzles, at least. I remember the problems calculus gave _me._" She paused. "Of course, other things still give him problems. Social situations, mostly. But that's hardly surprising."

"Did you two learn anything on Oa?"

"Nothing. The Guardians are apparently just as mystified as we are about his origins, or how his ring changed like that. And they had no information on this 'Sarah Marshall,' whoever, whatever she is."

"Hm. You said she told you…that the two of you had _met?_ When could that have happened?"

She shook her head. "No clue. I don't know what she was talking about, but she stated that we knew each other, that we'd met, sometime."

"So it's a mystery." Nightwing had a love / hate relationship with mysteries. Part of him loved the challenge of solving a puzzle, but another part hated not knowing the answers, or even where to get the answers. He sighed. "Guess Hal and I will keep digging. Anyway, I guess that about covers everything. Where's our Gold Lantern now?"

Ragnar had taken this time to visit a place Megan had called the _mall,_ which was apparently a center of commerce in the town. The enclosed area appealed to him, but the crowds did not. He had seen no reason to disguise himself, and nobody had told him to, so he was exploring the mall in his full Gold Lantern uniform. Several times, some people stopped and stared at the blue-skinned, golden garbed figure, but most of the people in town knew about superheroes, including extraterrestrial ones, by now.

In spite of his discomfort with the crowds, he couldn't help but be fascinated by the bewildering variety of shops he encountered in the mall. Not to mention the food courts…he still didn't have any money, but noted several establishments that seemed promising, once he acquired some.

There were several shops, or _kiosks_, as Megan had called them, right out in the middle of the mall's spacious expanse. As he passed by one of these, he heard, "Sir? Would you like to try some imported hand cream?"

Hand? Cream? "Er, I don't know. What is it?" He didn't wish to seem rude or impolite, and was acutely conscious of his ignorance of proper cultural customs.

The speaker, an attractive young woman with a dark tan, came up to him. "It's the finest hand cream marketed in the You Ess. You see…." And she went on to explain, or so it seemed.

But she came up to him, closing the distance between them to a point that made Ragnar uncomfortable. He didn't mind when Megan, his friend, got this close, but he didn't know this person, and his natural caution made him uneasy. She was literally only a hand's breadth away from him, looking him straight in the eyes, intently, while she extolled the virtues of this "hand cream" she'd mentioned. So he took a step back.

She took a step forward. He took another step back, and she took another step forward. Again, a backward step on his part resulted in a forward step on hers.

Now he angled around the kiosk, endeavoring to get away. He didn't have any money, anyway, so it was pointless for her to waste her time in trying to sell him something, especially something whose purpose he was unclear about.

She took another step forward, adjusting her advance to accommodate his retreat. He took yet another step back and away, and she followed. He was beginning to get very nervous about this whole thing. "…made from tiny pearls, mixed with rare, secret ingredients from the far east…"

He'd backed around the entire kiosk one full circle, with her following his every move, when it occurred to him: go into another shop. "Excuse me, but I must go in here." He strove to be polite, as he understood it; from what he knew or could determine, she was only doing her job, and he had no wish to just shove her away. "Uhm, I, I w-will be back. Excuse me." And he turned and practically ran into the closest shop available. As he did, he noted the sign over it.

Just what _was_ "Victoria's Secret," anyway?

…

"He left? Where'd he go?" Miss Martian asked Wally.

"Dunno." Kid Flash spoke around a mouthful of leftover pizza. "Just out. I didn't think to ask him where. Why?"

"Well, it's just….he's so new here. I guess I worry he'll get into some kind of trouble."

"Ah, it'll be okay. I mean, you know the guy; he's Mr. Caution himself. I mean, what's the worst that can happen?"

…

"Yes, sir? Can I help you, sir?" A sales clerk approached him as he looked around the store, utterly baffled by what he saw.

She wasn't much older than he was, or Megan, he thought, but she was by no means "older" in the usual sense, with wavy brown hair falling down past her shoulders. He still didn't have a good grasp of Earthly years, but, judging from what he had gleaned, she couldn't have been more than two or three of those years older than he was. Probably less. "Well, actually," he began, embarrassed, "I came in here in order to get away from, uhm…" And he inclined his head outwards into the shopping mall, where the other saleslady still sought to sell her hand cream.

The girl laughed. It was a nice laugh, he thought. Laughter was something he was just now coming to appreciate, having never had much experience with it, either in himself, and certainly not in any others. "Oh, I totally understand. You aren't the first one to seek refuge in here." She nodded outwards, towards the hand-cream saleslady. "She's, uhm, rather insistent. Or perhaps 'dedicated' would be a more polite term."

"Yes, she is." He looked around. "I confess to some curiosity about this place. I am not from your world, and there is much about it I don't understand. This shop, for example."

"Hm." She eyed him, a hint of disbelief and bemusement in her eyes. "Well, we sell, er, _specialized_ garments here, aimed at women. Usually when a guy comes in, it's to buy something for a very special girl in his life." She looked him up and down, noting the blue skin and gold costume. She moved closer, looking at him very closely. "You have someone like that in your life?"

"I have a special friend, yes. Two, actually. But…somehow I don't think that's what you mean by 'special.'"

"Well, you know. Dating. A girlfriend." She saw his blank look. "A, a mate, maybe?" Geez. This guy really _wasn't_ from around these parts. A suspicion was beginning to form in her mind…

"_Ah!_ Yes, _now_ I understand. No, I do not have a mate in my life. I do have a friend, however, who is a girl. But not a 'girl friend,' as I understand the term."

"Well, I mean, if you two aren't, y'know, _intimate_, you probably should hold off on getting anything for her from here." She looked around, nervously, it seemed to him. "My boss would probably kill me for saying that, but, but sometimes, I've noticed, guys tend to, well, wanna _rush_ things a little."

This was all making only partial sense to him, but some of the meaning was beginning to percolate through. These garments…."I am mystified as to what the function of these clothes could be."

"They're for intimate couples. Unless you're intimate, or maybe want to be?..., it…might be best to hold off on buying anything in here."

"I shall take your advice."

She looked at him, tilting her head first one way, then the other, as though seeing him for the first time. "Say. You…you aren't just pretending, are you? That's not make-up on your face. You really are that new superhero, aren't you? The one who fought the Joker?" Nightwing had, in keeping with the covert nature of the team, seen to a press blackout regarding Ragnar. But word still got around…

"The Joker? Yes. He was trying to hurt my friend."

Her mouth twitched, and her expression became very somber. She came up to him, and, completely unexpectedly, put her arms around him, and _squeezed_. "I thought…I thought you were just cosplaying or something. But you…you're _real._" She pulled back, looking at him through eyes that were beginning to spill over with tears. "You saved my parents that night. They were in that PTO meeting, when that piece of shit tried to murder them all. You stopped him." She sniffled, hard. This made him uneasy, too; he didn't really know how to respond to that. The girl was clearly getting very emotional, and he barely knew how to handle his own emotions. Abruptly, she turned, and reached across the glass countertop. "Here." She handed him a small glass or crystal bottle with a spraying mechanism on top. "Give your friend this. This won't create any problems, I mean, all girls like perfume. Just give her this."

He stepped back. "I cannot buy anything . I have not been here long enough to acquire any of the 'money' that these items cost."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't have taken money from you anyway. You saved my family. You're a hero. To me." Suddenly, she leaned forward, and pressed her lips against his blue cheek. "It's on the house. Give her that. And," and here, she drew back, a little shyly, he thought, smiling at him, even as she dropped her gaze. "And, and, if by some chance she _doesn't_ appreciate it….I…I know someone who would. Someone real close by."

The pair stood there in the middle of the store, both of them unsure what to do next, albeit for different reasons. Then, after a moment, she turned towards the back of the store. "Now as to getting you safely out of here….there's an employee entrance, a back door, right back through here..."

…

The beast had made another planetfall, and this one seemed more likely to produce more satisfying results. Already it had detected signs of civilization here, though, of course, the creature did not think in those terms. The closest approximation to that concept that went through its head was _things to kill._ Nourished by cosmic radiation, needing no air or water, the creature lived only to destroy.

In this last, it was making good headway. Already, the planetary defense forces had managed to get themselves extremely dead by going up against the monster. Reinforcements had been sent for, but said reinforcements took time to arrive, and the creature was not idle.

The living incarnation of pure destruction had already demolished two cities, in spite of the valiant attempts by the planet's military to halt its destructive rampage. It turned towards the next city. Dimly it could hear the sounds of beings in distress, some, it seemed to the creature, quite young. A savage grin split the monster's face. They'd get no older.

But even as it hurled itself forward, a ringing challenge came from above. "Halt, creature! Your destructive ways end, today!" Tamar Roj's challenge went forth, as did a blast from his emerald power ring. The crystalline entity known as 'X'lyn observed, and, with the vast processing powers his kind were famous for, sought any sign of weakness or handicap in their foe.

He wasn't finding any.

"Go back into the deserts that spawned you, and trouble these good folk no mor-*" He got no further. The monster leapt at him, catching him full on, and proceeded to literally tear the Green Lantern limb from limb. Horrified, albeit in his own unemotional way, 'X'lyn watched, still striving to see some hint of a weakness that they could exploit.

But there was none. Whatever damage the monster suffered healed in microseconds, not minutes, and at no time did it display any indication of even being inconvenienced by what few injuries they had inflicted upon it. It was as if it just didn't care what happened to it, as long as it could kill.

The remaining Green Lantern, wielding the most powerful weapon in the universe, lasted a full half-second under the monster's onslaught, before shattering into innumerable crystal shards.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5: Reflections

Gold Justice, Chapter 5: Reflections

The only Gold Lantern in the universe made his way back to Mt. Justice, and the only other home he'd ever known, carrying his bottle of what the salesgirl had labeled _perfume._ As he flew, he angled over the city, flying over the place where Sarah's house…had apparently never been. As before, the lot was vacant, and showed no signs of ever holding a house such as he'd seen. "Puzzled" didn't begin to describe his state of mind. He _knew_ he had the right address; how could it be that there was no sign of a house here?

He hovered there in the air over the vacant lot. Who, what had Sarah been? It was obvious to him now, from his new perspective, that she wasn't just an immature human female. Somehow or another she'd been involved with his ring _changing_ the way it had. She'd even taught him his new recharging oath.

The Guardians had told him that the various colors of the ring wielders related to certain emotions: green was willpower, yellow was fear, red, rage, and so forth. But they'd had no knowledge of what emotion the color _gold_ could be associated with. Gold was _like_ yellow, but it wasn't, for some reason. It wasn't the same. If they'd had any knowledge of what emotion said color could be related to, they'd not shared it with him.

And another thing, somewhat unrelated: he was coming to realize that, every time he'd met Sarah, _she'd_ found _him._ She just seemed to find him whenever she needed to, while he had no idea even what she was, let alone how to find her.

That was discouraging, to him. Sarah obviously had some answers for him, but she wasn't divulging any. His ignorance was beginning to chafe.

Back to Mt. Justice. "Ragnar!" Megan ran up to meet him, there in the outer hallway. "I'm glad you're back! They said you'd left, but nobody knew where you'd gone! You really shouldn't go out into the city without m-, I mean, one of us. You're still learning, you know."

"I know, Megan. I went to this 'mall' you told me about. I just wanted to see what it was. It was…." He paused. "Interesting. And confusing. I'm sorry if I troubled you."

"Well, you're back, safe and sound. Just don't go out like that without, without letting us know, okay?"

"Very well. Oh, this is for you." He handed her the bottle of perfume.

Her eyes widened and she blushed crimson all over her face. He wondered why she did that. "For, for me? Ragnar….Victoria's Secret? How did you wind up there? And how did you buy this?"

"It was given to me by the salesgirl in that store. She did not request payment; evidently, her parents were among those I rescued from the Joker. But she told me to give this to my special friend. You are certainly special, to me. Is—is it okay?"

Megan's cheeks were still burning. "Uh, y-yeah, Ragnar, it's okay. Uhm. Thank you!" She flung her arms around him, privately grateful that Wally wasn't loitering around. "But how did you wind up in that particular store?" He told her of his escapade, his dodging into the nearest store in order to get away from the very insistent saleslady outside, and of his conversation with the girl in the store. "She advised me not to buy any of the garments there, and I accepted that. I couldn't have, anyway. But I'm still mystified by the function of those garments. They _couldn't_ have been designed to keep any secrets. Not only did none of them have pockets, most of them were transparent. So I'm puzzled."

Still blushing. "Ah, that's a story for another time, Ragnar. But thank you for this! This, this is expensive perfume!"

"You are most welcome." He paused. "I came back, looking over where Sarah's house…was. I could detect nothing there that indicated there had ever been a house there. Yet I know I dropped her off there, before."

"Ragnar…all that sounds like the beginnings of a cosmic mystery. Maybe someday, we'll puzzle it out, but for now, I guess we take it for what it's worth. The answers will come, in time. Or they won't. But either way, there's no more we can do about that." She again flung her arms around him, this time kissing him on the cheek, the way the salesgirl had. "And, and thank you again. You may not be aware of this, but I really don't get gifts like, like this all that often."

He turned to her, there in the outer entrance room to the main chamber. Raised an eyebrow. "Well. Then I shall have to correct that."

…

_En route_ to sector 0875, Arisia's ring chimed. The Guardians were calling. _"Lantern Arisia,"_ Ganthet's image began._ "We note that you are proceeding to sector 0875. You should know that Lanterns Tamar Roj and 'X'lyn have ceased to report. Their rings indicate that they are deceased. Whatever force they encountered, it evidently proved too much for them._

"_So you and your team are to proceed with extreme caution. Scan the area carefully, and locate the source of the disturbance. Under no circumstances are you to take action without further word from us. Instead, once you have identified the source of the problem, you are to immediately fall back and contact us. As of now, we need your reconnaissance more than ever."_

"Yes, Masters. I will do as you say. But have you any idea as to what I'm supposed to be looking for?"

"_None. That is why your mission is so vital. Do not, repeat, do not engage any opponents you discover. Instead, report back to us, and we will decide what to do next. But it is vital that we know the cause of the deaths of two of our Corps members. Intelligence gathering is the primary purpose of your mission. Is that understood?"_

"Yes, Masters."

….

"…don't buh-_leeve_ it! He actually gave her some perfume from _Victoria's Secret?_ He's either the smoothest player I've ever met, or the most clueless." Kid Flash and Nightwing were walking down the hallway. Wally frowned, slightly. "I guess he couldn't very well be _both_, could he?"

"Well, believe it." Nightwing sighed. "And, honestly, I'm not sure which of those two categories he falls into myself. But that's their business: no spreading gossip, got it?"

"Oh, I won't breathe a word of it! I promise!"

_Famous last words,_ sighed Nightwing. Too late he remembered a running gag there at Mt. Justice: there were four means of mass communication on Earth: internet, radio, television, and Tell Wally.

…

Ragnar's room: He'd summoned his power battery, and was preparing to charge his ring.

Something nagged at the back of his mind. From what he'd gleaned from the Green Lanterns, their central power battery was actually fueled, and home to, a living entity. That seemed especially bizarre to him, but that was what he'd gathered.

So…if the analogy held up, _his_ power battery, the only one of its kind in existence (that he knew of, he cautioned himself) was perhaps the home of some entity from which he drew his power. He wondered: could that entity be Sarah? It made a certain amount of logical sense.

He held his ring against the interface, and recited:

"_To those in fear, I come to aid._

_Let those who cause fear be afraid._

_Nevermore shall one fear fright,_

_So swear I, by this Golden Light!"_ And the ascending tone of his ring bespoke of its full power charge.

Still holding it against the battery, he _willed_ a question: _Sarah? Are you there?_ And he waited, though, in all honesty, he couldn't have said what he was waiting _for._

No answer. Somehow, he wasn't surprised; he'd been privately wondering if whoever, whatever the being whom he knew as Sarah Marshall even existed. Had she been a figment of his imagination, all along? But how? She'd known things he didn't know, couldn't know, himself, and had given him _money_ that was evidently real. He couldn't have conjured up anything of a permanent nature with his ring, even subconsciously. He withdrew the ring from the battery's interface, lowering his arm, and thought.

All the evidence pointed towards "Sarah" being a creature independent of his own thought, who had, for some reason, selected _him_ for some task. But even though he possessed a natural talent for solving puzzles, he couldn't divine the answer to this one….

_All at once, a cascade of images ran through his mind. He saw world after world, desolate, empty, the corpses of their dominant life-forms piled high. Overall was a feeling of doom, of impending catastrophe even greater than these. In each and every one, he saw some form—some figure—standing in dark triumph, laughing gleefully at the destruction it had wrought. In his mind, he came up behind the figure, grabbed it by the shoulder, and yanked it around. He wanted to see the face of this monster who'd murdered worlds._

_And in every case the face that stared back at him, though distorted with evil mirth, was his own._

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6: Warnings

Gold Justice, Chapter 6: Warnings

Miss Martian woke up. It wasn't her telepathy, but somehow she _knew_ something was wrong. She threw on a robe, and emerged into the hallway. Later on, she could never have said just how she knew, but she _knew_, beyond any doubt, that Ragnar was in trouble. There; down the hall: she could see flashes of golden light coming from under the door to his quarters. Was he fighting a battle in there? Against who? Even her hearing could pick up no sound…

At his door, she signaled for entrance. "Ragnar! _Ragnar!_ Are you alright in there?" No response.

Desperate times…she'd long ago learned to alter her density so as to pass through solid objects. She did so now, and gasped when she saw Ragnar, in uniform, down on all fours on the floor. His power battery was floating in midair, and emitting silent random flashes of golden light that played over everything in the room. She didn't know much about power ring batteries, but she knew enough to know _this_ wasn't normal.

She got down on the floor beside him, trying to hold him, shield him from the lightning-like golden flashes. "Ragnar! Wake up! _Wake up!_" He was unresponsive, shuddering, his eyes rolled up into the top of his head. She turned to the floating power battery. "Stop this! Leave him _alone!"_

She hit her comm. link. "Trouble, people. Ragnar's room. Come quick!" Within minutes, the rest of the team currently housed in Mt. Justice had assembled, as best they could, in Ragnar's small room. But numbers didn't seem to matter; the battery was still giving off random flashes of light, and Ragnar was still unresponsive.

Nightwing tele'd the Watchtower. "J'onn! Got a problem here! Are either of the GLs present?"

"John Stewart is on duty right now. Describe what's happening." And the Martian Manhunter three-wayed the conversation to Stewart. "Any thoughts, John? What could be going on?"

Stewart shook his head. "I've never heard of anything like this happening before. I'm gonna ring up Hal, though; he may know something." But moments later, they learned that Hal had never encountered any situation like this, either. "It's almost like the battery's _attacking_ him, somehow. Or, or some kind of feedback. What's his medical condition?"

Nightwing and Miss Martian both examined Ragnar as best as they could. "Can't really tell; we don't have any proper diagnostics in here. M'gann? Are you sensing anything?"

"Only…only horror. And, and…." She stopped, puzzled by what she was sensing. "It's like he's feeling a kind of self-loathing, a self-hate. But I can't get any clear picture!" Her voice was desperate.

"See if you can reach him, telepathically. It's the only thing we have to go on." And Megan concentrated, willing her thoughts to become one with her…friend's.

What she saw made no sense. Only a jumble of images similar to an Earthly kaleidoscope as seen from within, but nothing that would account for his present turmoil.

On the very edge of his mind, she caught the faintest glimmer of a coherent thought pattern. Cautiously, she approached it. If something was attacking Ragnar on a psychic level, she needed to exercise caution. It wouldn't help anyone if whatever it was caught _her,_ too.

But it appeared to be him, huddled over, as though trying for a fetal position. _Ragnar?_ She 'pathed, _Ragnar, it's me, Megan. What in the world is going on? What's wrong?_

_Everything's wrong, Megan! Nothing's right! I, I can't-*_ Another confused jumble of images, as the kaleidoscopic images changed yet again. _I can't hold on!_

"No," she murmured to herself, cradling his head in her lap, there on the floor of his room, "you've got to. Come on, Ragnar. Pull it together. We need you." _I__ need you._

_I…I don't know if I can…._

_You've got to try. Come on. Come on with me; let's leave this place. Come on back to us._ In her mind, she pictured herself as holding his hand, leading him back away from the insanity that surrounded him, that surrounded them both.

It was an uphill battle. Whatever was going on in Ragnar's psyche had a tenacious hold over him. Several times, they both felt like they were being buffeted about by hurricane force winds, only barely managing to hang onto each other.

Slowly, gradually, the two made it out of wherever it was. Finally, Ragnar opened his eyes, recognizing his surroundings….and the girl in whose lap his head rested. "I…I am…I am back. Thank you, Megan. Thank you all."

Megan herself was out of psychic "breath" from the ordeal. "Hey, just don't scare me like that again! I'm not sure my heart can take it." But she smiled down at him, and he smiled back.

"Ragnar? What happened there?" Nightwing had maintained the communication channel open to the Watchtower, and several holograms of J'onn J'onzz, John Stewart, and Hal Jordan waited expectantly, floating in mid-air.

Ragnar and Megan rose. "I…I'm not sure. I was recharging my ring, and…I asked my battery if Sarah was in there. You told me," he indicated Hal's hologram, "that sometimes entities live inside power ring batteries. I thought perhaps she might be the entity inside mine. But…I got no response. Then…everything went…wrong. I, I don't know why."

Jordan nodded. "It was a logical deduction. I found out the hard way that Parallax was living inside the main battery on Oa. But what happened?"

Ragnar explained to them about the images that had cascaded through his mind. "And in each and every one, I saw _myself_ as being the cause of all the misery. Why, I don't know."

"It…may mean nothing, Ragnar. Or it may mean everything. Did the Guardians examine your power battery, while you were on Oa?" Privately, he wondered if the battery could be defective in some way. But since no one but the Guardians themselves seemed to know how such batteries worked in the first place…

"Yes, they did. If they discovered anything, however, they did not share that information with me."

_Typical,_ thought Jordan. "Well, surely if the battery itself was somehow defective or dangerous to you in some way, they'd have said something." He made a mental note to inquire about that, first chance he got.

"One thing I know," Ragnar continued, now sitting on the couch, with Megan beside him, "There is something going on, something involving me. I don't know what or how, but…there is danger. What I seemed to be sensing was that I was somehow responsible for the deaths of untold millions. I know that I, personally, have never killed anyone. But I received the distinct impression that I was somehow to blame…or _would be_ to blame…for these deaths." He looked up at Nightwing, Kid Flash, Megan, and the holograms of those in conference with them, there in his room. "I know that everyone has advised me that my answers lie in the future, and this I do not doubt. But…. I feel I _must_ learn more about my past, my origins." He turned to Nightwing. "Nightwing, I must return to my old home and research this matter. My ship's files were damaged, but perhaps there is something there that could tell me something, knowing what I now know."

Dick sighed, slightly. He'd come to the same conclusion. "I agree, Ragnar. But your own searchings told you nothing. Maybe you could take someone with you…." Megan perked up at the words. "…Maybe, if they can, one or more of our GL's could accompany you there. Whatever you find could be transmitted directly to the Guardians. They'd be in the best position to sift through it…Megan, maybe you'd better sit this one out. I really need you here, in case this kidnapping case nabs us more suspects. Your telepathy…."

"Dick, I really would like to go with him. Plus, it may be that my telepathy will be more useful there," she began, angling her proposal, "since it was my telepathy that uncovered those latent memories in his mind the first time…"

But he was shaking his head. "I really need you here. And besides, your telepathy is no good on computers, anyway. No, if Hal or John could accompany Ragnar to his old home world, that'd really be for the best. Hal? John?" He addressed the holograms still suspended in mid-air.

"I've already conferred with the Guardians, and we're both available."

"Dick, please. Ragnar may need my help. If it hadn't been for my telepathy, he might not have come out of this…this…whatever it was. Who's to say that won't recur? And neither Hal nor John is a telepath."

"She has a point," Ragnar said. "I truly don't know what would've happened, just now, had she not…found me, somehow."

"Plus, I do know a thing or two about computers," Megan persisted. "And we wouldn't have to be gone long, anyway. Just long enough to download the ship's files onto an external drive. I doubt it would take more than a day. Maybe less."

Nightwing threw up his hands. "Alright, already. But two days absolute max. Got it?"

…..

The flight to Ragnar's home world was an experience for Miss Martian. Previously, she'd been accustomed to traveling between planets in starships, but this flying through empty space, with no ship's hull around you, was both exhilarating and a bit frightening.

She and Ragnar were in front, as he had to lead the way. Green Lanterns Hal Jordan and John Stewart followed closely behind, all of them protected by their rings' field of protection. Several times, Ragnar had to stop and get his bearings, then they took off again.

After several course corrections, they finally arrived at what appeared to be a very Earthlike world, one which had been home to Ragnar for so many years. Megan took the opportunity to examine this world from space, using her Martian senses.

Overall, remarkably Earthlike. It was mostly forest or jungle, depending upon closeness to the equator, but the poles showed the white of ice caps, although here they were smaller than Earth, and there were isolated areas resembling the American southwest. It was to one of these, in the northern hemisphere, that Ragnar led them. They touched down on a boulder-strewn area that reminded Megan and the Green Lanterns of Arizona. "So, where's your ship, Ragnar?" asked Hal Jordan, looking about. The view was unobscured, and he could see nothing in any direction that might indicate a crashed starship, or, indeed, any sort of artifact at all…

"It's right here. You don't see it—well, actually, you do, but part of the ship's defensive shielding involves what I suppose you'd call a thought screen." He was walking toward a large, more or less flat place, up against a small mountain.

"A thought screen?" Hal flashed his ring around, searching for the ship.

"Yes. The ship is right here, in front of you, but the thought screen prevents you from thinking about it. In other words, you see it but you don't _notice_ it." He walked up to what appeared to be an empty space. "Wait a moment. The ship's defenses are programmed to refuse entry to any but me." He frowned, extending forth his hand….

….and the air in front of him rippled in a thoroughly disturbing way, revealing a large crystalline structure, half-buried against the hill it was up against. "There. Here we go." And he led them into the ship itself.

…..

Sector 0875: Arisia and her team were busily scanning the area. They'd already come across the corpses of the fallen Lanterns Tamar Roj and 'X'lyn. Arisia shuddered; she'd seen better looking bodies in starship crashes. Whatever had killed them had been nothing if not thorough.

The trail of devastated worlds led into the next sector. She paused, telecommunicating with the Guardians (who always seemed to be in council session; Arisia suppressed a smile. Didn't they ever take bathroom breaks?), informing them of the trail of destruction they'd seen. The Guardians had been most insistent that she check in on a regular basis, and their demands for information had seemed to take on a hint of desperation, to Arisia's ear.

"_You are certain you saw no ion trail, no indication of any form of spacecraft or any other sort of vehicle?"_

"Yes, masters. We looked especially for those, including any warp signatures that might indicate teleport or translight technology. But all we have so far is a heap of dead bodies. We've sent the remains of Tamar Roj and 'X'lyn back. Perhaps a forensics team could tell us a bit more about what killed them."

"_No trace of any weapons systems?"_

"None, masters. They were apparently simply torn apart. But I can't even imagine what sort of forces could do that to not one, but two prepared Corps members."  
There was a silence on the other end. Then, _"Continue collecting the data. Try to determine the trajectory of whatever it may be, both backward and forward. Perhaps if we backtrack it, we may learn something. Oa out."_

….

Ragnar's ship: Megan and the two Green Lanterns were looking about them in barely disguised awe. For a wrecked spaceship, this place was…highly advanced and, so far as they could tell, very functional. Hal had been thinking they'd find bits and pieces, but this…

"And you lived here for, for what? Fifteen years, Ragnar?"

"Yes, Megan. At least, that is as near as I can approximate it, having no concept of 'years' at the time." He started down one hallway, a determined look on his face. "Excuse me, there is something I must see." The other three glanced at each other; Megan then moved to follow him. She had a hunch where he was going.

She followed him into a large storage area, with bay doors all along both sides of the walls. He went straight to one, and pulled it open.

The drawer thus revealed was an empty slab approximately five feet wide and ten feet long. He pulled it out, and she noted him gazing at the heavy fabric covering over it. "This is where they were, wasn't it?" She was referring to the remains of his parents, that, for all his life, had been all he'd known of them.

Wordlessly, he nodded, not fully trusting himself to speak. The covering was loose, but it looked like it might have, at one time, served to cover the remains of two adult humanoid bodies. "This…this is where they were. Now…" He gestured, helplessly, at the empty slab.

Ragnar's parents had recently been resurrected as Black Lanterns, and had attacked him on Earth. He'd beaten them back, rejecting their "offers" of "reunification," but only with the help of his new friends in the Justice League and the Team. And, of course, with the help of the mysterious entity known only as "Sarah Marshall," who had instructed him on his changed ring, and how to use it. "For so long, Megan, I…this was all I had of them. I even," he added, shamefacedly, "I would occasionally come down here to _talk_ to them. I mean, I knew they couldn't talk back, but…they were all I had. Now, now even that's gone."

She came up to his side. "Ragnar…it's like I've been saying: they're the past. Yes, I know even their bones are gone, but no one can take your memories away. Or your dreams. And some of those dreams have come true, haven't they? I mean, you now have living, breathing friends to talk to, right?" _And maybe one who's more than just a friend?_

He nodded, but his gesture had a touch of sadness to it. "I suppose I just didn't want to accept that they were truly gone. But they are. There's no going back."

"Did you really _want_ to go back?"

Hesitation. "At one time…yes. When it all seemed like everything was going so wrong…I wanted to come back here and just go back to, to the way things had been. I see now that that was foolish—I couldn't have done so, even had I made it back here. My experiences had changed me. Yes, I _could_ have come back here—physically. But mentally, emotionally? No. I couldn't go back to being the way I was. I, I wouldn't be…happy like that. Not that I ever really was."

She laid her head on his shoulder. Strange; she hadn't felt this way in…a long time. When she and Conner had parted ways, she'd vowed not to become entangled with another, not for a very long, long time. Yet here she was…"Like you said, Ragnar, you've changed. You can't go home again, not because home isn't there, but because _you_ are different now. What do you think you'd have been like, had you never left?" Looking up at him, from within the embrace of his arm. It hadn't totally registered to either of them that they were embracing each other.

"I…Probably not the sort of person I'd really be interested in knowing. All I knew, when I lived here, was fear. Fear of the predators, but mostly fear of being alone. And there was no escape from that."

She hugged him. "Well, I won't lie and say there are no predators out there, but you definitely aren't alone anymore. And you can, as the humans say, take _that_ to the bank."

He stared down at her. "I can? How?"

…..

In the forward part of the ship, Hal Jordan and John Stewart were gazing in awe at the surroundings. "I haven't seen anything this advanced outside of, well, outside of Oa itself. Look." John pointed at an array of crystals. "Those look like the control rods for a zero-point controlled singularity energy recycler. And those," he pointed up, towards the ceiling, "I could swear they remind me of a Kryptonian navigation array. That might plug straight into the ship's nav computers…we'd probably do well to start there."

"Hold on, John. Remember, just because we're inside doesn't mean we're authorized personnel. There could be booby traps specifically set to catch meddlers like us. We'd better wait for Ragnar and M'gann to rejoin us."

John grinned. "They do seem to do just about everything together, don't they? Ah, to be young and in love like that…"

"Ixnay on the Ov-lay Alk-tay. Let 'em get acquainted at their own speed. And it may not be anything like that at all, you know. I get the distinct impression our Gold Lantern is a complete innocent. No need to go off looking for a wedding coordinator just yet." Pause. "But those crystal rods do look very similarly to Ovian crystalline tech, and that was descended directly from Kandorian technology. Just mark those areas, and scan what you can for when they do get back. Passive scans only, though; we don't know what nasty surprises this ship could hold. And given the state of the art here, I can see it as being something we probably really wouldn't like. So…patience, John. They'll be back soon enough."

…

Actually, Ragnar had taken Megan for a stroll in the nearby forested area, close by where his ship was. "I used to come here every day, more often than not just because it was a quiet, cool place where I could just _think_. And yes, relax. As much as I ever allowed myself to relax, that is."

"Oh, Ragnar, it's lovely!" He'd led her to a small pond, enclosed on all sides by green trees that hung, to one degree or another, over the water. A stream fed the pond, and the combination of the coolness, the shade, and the soothing sound of the water trickling and chuckling over the rocks as it delivered its payload into the pond, made for an oasis, or at least, as much of one as Megan had ever seen, in her life, water, after all, being highly sought after and jealously guarded on Mars.

But here, there was plenty of water, all of it fresh, as her senses could tell her. No odd chemicals or microorganisms, just good, pure, cold water. There was even a bit of a sandy beach over to one side.

She threw caution to the winds. Shucking off her standard uniform, and using her shape-changing powers to alter herself so that she _looked_ like she was wearing a swimsuit, she made for the water's edge. "Race ya!"

Ragnar was taken completely by surprise. But he could adapt, using his ring to change his outfit into one such as he'd seen on Earthly beaches, and plunged into the water beside her.

….

Back on Ragnar's ship: Hal and John were busy compiling and transmitting the data they'd acquired from the ship's computers. Just the raw data itself wasn't enough; that data had to be _translated_ into a format usable by the Guardians' computers. Not only was the information in another, completely unknown language, but the data itself stored in a format unique to itself.

Some things could wait, and some things they had to guess at, just in order to compile it all. Several times, John had to ask Ragnar questions about what his best guess was of a fill-in-the-blank. And several times, Ragnar hadn't been able to come up with anything, himself.

"Personnel," muttered John Stewart, "crew—I'm guessing that means crew. Closest translation appears to be 'operators,' or 'operatives.' But it seems to fit in the context of the sentence." But something caught his attention. "Ragnar? Take a look at this."

Ragnar looked over John's shoulder at the readout on the screen. "I'm guessing," Stewart continued, "that these are downloaded files from, from like, a mothership? Or something. Anyway, they indicate humanoid life-forms." And they did. The files indicated a total of three-hundred fifty-seven…."Ragnar, what's this word?"

"I don't know. I never—wait. In the files of this ship, when I ran my usual scans, that term often came up as 'supplies.' But that can't be right."

"Couldn't possibly be." John chewed on a knuckle. "Of course, some languages, some words do double, or even triple, duty. I mean, we're talking about intelligent beings here, it even says so….Wait. Ragnar, what's that word?" He pointed to an unfamiliar ideogram, one they hadn't taken note of before.

Ragnar squinted, not because he couldn't see the word, but frowning in concentration. "That's got to be part of the damaged files. That term is inaccurate."

John scanned the files even then being uploaded. "But it appears in several places, always linked to this same file, and it looks like it's referring to the same thing, the same concept. Could the damage have been that widespread?"

Ragnar shook his head. "These files _must_ be corrupted, somehow. Because, in the language of my people, that word means-*" He broke off, his expression one of disbelief. "No. No. It can't be that. There has to be some other explanation."

Megan noticed his look, and could see the turmoil in his mind, even if she couldn't read his mind very well. He was obviously upset about something, and she didn't need telepathy to know that. "But what does that term mean, Ragnar?"

"It—it means nothing. It is inaccurate; that's all there is to it." He bit his lip. Hard.

She took him to one side, away from Hal and John. "Ragnar. What's wrong? Don't try to tell me nothing is; I'm a telepath, remember? So come on: tell me."

But he backed away, his expression angry. "It means nothing! I tell you, that file is corrupted! It…could not mean…what it says!" And with that, he turned and flew out of the ship.

Megan, Hal, and John just looked at each other. _What was that all about?_

…

Megan found him by the pool, sitting on a rock shelf, dangling his feet in the cool water. She came up and sat by him, not saying a word. She could tell, even without telepathy, that he knew she was there.

For long minutes, they sat in silence. Then he spoke up. "I, I am sorry if I yelled at you. You are not to blame."

She touched his arm. "Ragnar…what was so upsetting about that word? Why did it…have this effect on you? Won't you tell me?" Her eyes pleaded with him. "We're friends, Ragnar. You know you can tell me anything."

"I am…actually trying not to tell myself. I took it out on you. And the others. I am sorry."

"But what about a simple word could be so disturbing to you?"

He drew a deep breath. "The word, the word John Stewart was questioning me about, has only one meaning. It means…_cargo._" Pause. "And it was definitely referring to the people, the humanoids, from the old ship."

Her breath caught. Miss Martian was no stranger to dark secrets… "Ragnar? The, the word used to describe your people was…cargo?"

He looked down at the crystal clear water, not seeing any of it. All he saw, right then, were the images she'd pulled out of his mind: the crowding, the screams… "Cargo. And it was referring to my people. Megan….there aren't many ways to interpret that. We were listed as _cargo._ Slaves, in other words."

"Ragnar…that's, that's horrible, I know, but, I mean, why would that affect you so?"

"You haven't thought it through." He looked up at the sky overhead, the deepening twilight, the first stars beginning to show. How he wished he could see them as he once did, in a more innocent day. "My parents…they were the same beings as the ones listed as 'cargo.'" She waited. His mind was a confused jumble of emotions, thoughts, even more so now than ever before. "But unlike the others, they were able to get away from whatever was threatening them, threatening them all.

"So they were either slaves….

"Or the slavers."

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7: Plans

The Gold Corps: Gold Justice, Chapter 7 : Plans

Arisia's team was searching throughout the wreckage of the once-populated planet. As she'd told the Guardians, there was no indication of any sort of weapon or other technology used in the devastation; apparently the attacker(s) had utilized only brute force. But what sort of marauder would attack anyone and take nothing? What would be the point?

A quick call to the Guardians: "And that's all we can discover at this site, Masters. What are your orders?"

"_You are to proceed to the next inhabited world. And Lantern Arisia: we cannot stress this strongly enough: whatever you find, whoever, whatever is behind these attacks, do not, repeat do not engage it in combat. You are to locate the attacker and report. That is all you do, at this juncture. Is that clear?"_

"Yes, Masters." _Puzzling, but clear._ "But what should we do if we come upon innocents being endangered?" It wasn't in her nature to let such assaults go unchecked.

"_We repeat: take no action of your own. Report to us first, and await our instructions." _Pause. _"You have determined the nature of the attacks. Have you determined their trajectory? What world is next in line?"_

"If the attackers follow the pattern we've seen, the next world in line is an unpopulated planet, an ice planet, in fact. However, I'm receiving the distinct impression that that may not be the world we should be looking for."

"_And you base this observation upon what data?"_

"The attackers seem to target inhabited worlds. Were I one of them, I doubt I'd waste my time on a glaciated planet. There are other planets, not all that far off from this line, that do have life, and civilizations. But which one the attackers would go towards is…unknown."

There was a pause from the other end, and Arisia could see Ganthet's brow frowning in concentration. _"You may split your team up, but place a priority upon whichever world has the highest technological civilization. If our suspicions have merit, they will be next in line. But above all, remember: we need information. Do not engage any adversary without our express permission. Oa out."_

…_._

Ragnar's home world: Miss Martian sat, stunned, by his revelation. Ragnar's parents…slavers? "You don't _know_ that, Ragnar…"she began.

"The evidence points towards it, Megan. How else would they have come by this?" And he gestured behind him, to the wrecked spaceship that had been his home for so long. "Even assuming what you call a 'best case scenario,' that they were among the slaves, but who somehow managed to make it to a life-boat or something…don't you think it would be doubtful that they would be able to understand and use what would surely have been, to them, unfamiliar technology? So it follows that they _were_ familiar with it. Even as they would have had to have been…if they were the ones in charge of the…expedition" And Miss Martian could see how he arrived at that conclusion.

Analogy: an Earthly 18th century slave ship, crossing the Atlantic, its holds full of "merchandise." A successful revolt, a coup, from that "merchandise," and now the former slaves were in charge of the ship. What would they do? Would they be able to navigate the vessel? Would they know how to use the instruments? No matter how intelligent they might have been, unless they had been within visual sight of a landfall, the odds were they'd be unable to work the ship.

But those who'd been holding them in chains could.

"Ragnar, I….I don't know what to say to that…" she began. Where to begin? He was obviously distraught over the prospect that his parents, _his parents_, might have actually been the sort to hold their fellow beings in captivity, to be _sold_.

"Well, I do," he said, standing up, an expression of determination on his blue face. "Goodbye." And without another word, he lifted off into the gathering dark, rapidly disappearing from view.

"Ragnar, wait!" She called to him. "Wait, Ragnar!" She immediately flew upwards, trying to follow him, but his trail went steadily upward, passing beyond the atmosphere. _{{Ragnar!}}_ she called, telepathically, frantically trying to reach him, but to no avail.

…

An unidentified asteroid, on the other side of the sun from Ragnar's home world: Ragnar sat, protected by his ring's field, just looking out at the stars. He didn't know what he himself was thinking about.

Culturally, he still had a lot to learn. But he'd definitely picked up on one thing: slavers were _not_ nice people.

And the evidence pointed to his parents as being slavers. Or at least working in conjunction with beings who regarded people like him as "cargo." How could there possibly be an upside to that?

All his life, he'd nursed this fantasy of, not finding his parents, for he knew they were dead, but finding out that they'd been great people, leaders, scientists, explorers, travelers, adventurers of one nature or another.

And now this.

He sighed, there in the airlessness of space. He couldn't expect anyone else to understand. How could they? His whole world had collapsed like one of those "house of cards" they spoke of on Earth. Why would anyone build such a house? He didn't know. At the moment, he didn't really care.

He'd heard Megan's frantic calls to him, in his mind, even as he zipped out of the planet's gravity well. Right then, he didn't want to face her. He didn't want to face _anyone_, not right then. How could he?

He was just now coming to the realization that he'd been living a fantasy. Here he was, the forgotten, long-lost son of heroes. He'd even told the zombies posing as them, the Black Lanterns, that his parents had been good people. Apparently, he couldn't have been more wrong.

He wished he could talk to Sarah about this matter. Somehow, the being that always appeared to him as a little eight-year old girl always seemed to know what to say. What would she say if she were here now?

_Why did you save her, Mr. Ragnar?_ She'd asked him that question, back on Earth, back on Megan's adopted world, after he'd rescued Megan from an inferno started by the zombies. _Why did you save her?_ She'd asked.

"There was no reason not to." He'd responded then. "She wasn't to blame. She was only the bait in the trap…."

_But wasn't she part of the group that tried to capture you? Didn't she try to attack you with her mental powers, before?_

Well, yes, she had. _Do you really think she wasn't aware of her team's desire to capture you?_ Come to think of it, no. No, he was sure she at least _knew_ about those plans. _So how can you say she wasn't to blame?_

I guess, he thought to himself, that, really, she _was_ to blame. Sort of. But…

_But you did not blame her. Why not?_ He gazed out at the myriad stars, each of them with their own stories, their own secrets. "I didn't blame her because…because I didn't _want_ to blame her. I…liked her. I _like_ her. I…didn't _want_ to blame her for wanting to capture or hurt me."

He could just picture Sarah sitting by him, in her school uniform, the only outfit he'd ever seen her wear, there on the asteroid beside him. _So…you didn't blame her, not so much because she wasn't to blame, but because you liked her?_

"Basically," he muttered into the airless void. "Basically, yes."

_Doesn't she like you?_ Yes, that's exactly what Sarah would be saying to him, were she here. In fact, so strong was the impression that he looked around, scanning with both his ring and his senses, just to make sure he was alone.

He was.

"I….I don't see how she _could_ like me, not with…all this."

_All what?_

"All this…my finding out my parents weren't…weren't nice people."

_Were __her__ ancestors nice people?_

"Uhm. Well, from what she's told me, no. But that doesn't mat-*"

_Wasn't she afraid to tell you about herself? About being a white Martian?_

"Yes…but…."

_But what?_

"She's never done anything to hurt anyone. At least, not that I know of. She's always been my friend, has helped me in lots of ways."

_Have you ever hurt anyone?_

"No…but…"

_But how is it different? She doesn't like being a white Martian, and now you've discovered—you think—something that says your parents might have been people you aren't proud of. Aren't you projecting your feelings about yourself onto her, thinking she must feel the same way about yourself as you do? _

"Projecting…..?"

_Have you __asked__ her how she feels about you?_

He sat up, there on that airless rock. Looked around him. "Sarah? You're here, aren't you? Where are you? And…and _what_ are you?" His ring told him he was the only life form for many millions of miles around, but this internal conversation was becoming more complex than mere memory could account for.

_I'm right here, Mr. Ragnar. I've always been right here. _

_And I've always been your friend._

…_.._

"Hoe Lee crap." John Stewart looked as though somebody had just beaned him over the head with a large blunt object. "_Slavers?_ Man, that's….uh, gotta be rough." Hal Jordan also looked stunned.

"And then he just flew off. A-and, now I can't reach him. My-my telepathy doesn't extend that far." She sniffled. Must be catching a cold, she thought. _Yeah, right._

"Well, we gotta find him," Hal said, already readying his ring. "John, you take-*"

"That won't be necessary," said a familiar voice from the door way. Ragnar had returned; he kept his gaze steadfastly on the floor and wouldn't meet their eyes. "I am back."

Megan flew—literally—to his side, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him, by sheer physical force, outside the room and down the hallway. "'Scuze us a moment, you two." And she dragged him down the hall to a room.

Once inside, she turned on him. "How _dare_ you run off on us like that! Ragnar, we're your _friends!_ Or at least, I _thought_ we were! What did you mean, by running off like that?"

He still wouldn't meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, Megan. I… Well. I guess I am having a hard time adjusting to…some things. Maybe I was trying to run away from the truth, in a way."

"And did it work?"

"No. I should've realized that. Again, I'm sorry."

She softened. The guy was evidently hurting. "Look, Ragnar. I—we don't know, for a fact, that those people in your mind, who put you in the escape pod, even _were_ your parents. They might not have been. Your memories are all jumbled, and you ought to know by now that you can't trust the word of a Black Lantern, so _that's_ out. But _even if they were_, even if they _were_ your parents, even if your parents were, were the scum of the universe, _that's not your fault!_ You couldn't help that! Any more than I could help…being what I am! You don't blame me for that, do you?"

"Of course not!"

"So how's it different? You are _you,_" and here, she poked him in the chest, "You're the guy I….I really like. A lot." The last was spoken hastily, as though it were being crowded out by a torrent of words behind it. "It doesn't matter who your ancestors were! So…let's try to live in the here and now, okay? The past can't be changed, so all we have is the future. You don't _want_ to go back to the past, now, do you?"

"Definitely not. Especially now."

"Good. 'Cos here's a taste of the future…" And with that, she seized him and drew him into a passionate kiss, _very much_ unlike the platonic kiss on the cheek she'd given him earlier. It seemed to go on and on forever…

Finally, they broke apart, and she smiled up at him, there in his embrace. "I don't know about you, but the future looks pretty good to me, right now," she said.

"Er, to—to me, as well," he responded. New _feelings_ were beginning to wake up in him, warm and tender feelings towards his…..

….his friend.

"It's like I've said, Ragnar. You're a good person. I don't care if your parents were, were Trigon and Nekron—and, boy is _there_ ever a mental image to shake—that doesn't mean anything about _you._ You're _you,_ and from everything I've seen, I don't think you can _help_ but be a good person. You helped that little boy, you saved those people from burning to death, and you stood up to those zombies, to keep them from hurting anyone else. And all by sheer instinct! I don't think you can _help_ but do good. It's just in your nature." She absently brushed a tear away, before he could see it. Miss Martian wasn't human, but that didn't mean she didn't have human-like emotions, or a human-equivalent sex drive. And being here, in his arms like this, was beginning to make her feel tingly, all over….in some places more than others. _I can see we're gonna have some things to talk about…but not now._ "So, for now, let's just take it as a given that, that you, that you're…one of us. Uhm. Liked. Okay? And we don't care who or what your parents were or might've been. Doesn't matter. You're _you._ And, no matter what, you're my _friend._"

He looked at her for a long, long time, looking deep into her eyes. She noticed his own eyes, though as black as his hair, seemed to have golden flecks in them. Something about them… "Thank you, Megan. And you are _my_ friend, as well." And he drew her to him again, pressing her close. "I think I might've spoken with Sarah, a few moments ago. And she said much the same thing."

She drew back a bit in surprise. "Sarah? She's here?"

"No, that's the thing. She…she didn't _appear_ to me, so much as…the conversation seemed to take place in my mind. I didn't actually see her.

"But she told me the same thing."

More data for another time. "Well, we'd best go out and reassure Hal and John that everything's okay. And, you'll see, Ragnar: nobody blames you for what your ancestors did. It's what _you_ do that matters."

….

_But what, exactly, are we supposed to __do__,_ wondered Arisia. True to the Guardians' prediction, the next world following the trajectory of the raiders or whoever, whatever it might be, was in shambles. But this time, there were survivors. Not that they were much help. "Something huge, and fast," was about the best they could get out of the shellshocked remainders of the once populated world. The only reason the ones they talked to had survived was due to the fact that they had been deep underground, in some underground storage units, or mines, doing routine maintenance work, when the disaster had struck. "And it felt like some sort of quake," one reported, "then the mine just caved in."

Arisia reported these findings back to the Guardians. "And nobody seems to have a really good description as to the attackers, Masters."

"_That is acceptable, Lantern Arisia. We believe we have identified the source of our troubles. Bring your team out to the following coordinates; we are sending in a specialized strike team. Oa out."_

….

The gods entered Arisia's universe at the point where the monster had first struck. Highfather looked over the scene of devastation, his heart sinking within him. _We did this._ "Metron, can you place the beast?"

"Not precisely, Highfather. Evidently, the tracking mechanism suffered somewhat during its passage through the black hole. It is not reliable. But," the scientist swiveled his Mobius chair towards a spot in the sky, "all evidence points to the creature traveling in _that_ direction. Exactly how, I cannot say."

"Highfather, let me go do battle with this monster! Enough innocent lives have been lost! I will find this, this monster, this fiend, and utterly destroy it! Erase it from existence!" Orion was practically beside himself with battle-lust, not to mention righteous fury.

"Calm, my son." Highfather considered his next move. "Battles planned in haste are as hastily lost. Lightray, follow the coordinates Metron will supply you with. Locate the monster, and determine how it is getting from planet to planet so easily. It did not demonstrate the ability to fly before, but that may have changed. Find out, and report back." Off he went.

….

Oa: The Guardians had convened, concerning the matter of this destroyer of worlds. {{I think we can safely say this creature is the same one we encountered long ago, this genetic experiment, the being the Earth humans have named "Doomsday," can we not? The question arises: what will we do about this monster? For we must do something.}}

Sayd "spoke" up: {{At our last knowing of the creature, it was thought to be dead, destroyed by the one known as "Superman," of Earth. How did it manage to return? This may prove crucial.}}

{{How so?}}

{{If the creature has been resurrected as a Black Lantern, then our means of dealing with it must differ substantially from any previous solution. And we know there have been reports of Black Lantern activity on Earth.}}

Ganthet shook his head. {{We have nothing pointing towards the beast being a resurrected corpse. Rather, it must have somehow…rejuvenated, regenerated itself somehow. And now it is back.}}

{{It is important that we know the manner of its "death" this last time, as all evidence points towards it being able to overcome previous means of termination.}}

Paalko interjected, {{If we assume, for the moment, that the creature is "simply" a rejuvenated version of itself, what options are available to us?}}

Ganthet nodded towards Sayd. {{We are already preparing a specialized strike team to deal with the monster. However, we must be prepared for said strike team to be…perhaps less than totally effective.}}

{{Meaning we may be sending Green Lanterns to their deaths? Is that what you're saying?}}

{{Meaning we must be prepared for a worst case scenario. Our strike team _may_ be sufficient. Lantern Kilowog is, even now, assembling our best and most capable to lead against the creature. But should they fail…we must have options.}}

{{And those options would be…?}}

{{We can quarantine the solar system in which the beast currently finds itself. We can place a subquantum force-field around the entire star system. There is no indication that the creature possesses the ability to overcome such a passive response. It seems to respond primarily to aggressive actions, and is able to adapt accordingly, but it can, as far as we know, be contained. That would, however, leave it alive. And, as long as the creature lives, it is a very real threat to any other living thing in the universe.}} Pause. {{Of course, that will mean certain death for any beings unfortunate enough to find themselves trapped within the field with it. This…is not wholly and totally acceptable to me.}}

Lianna stared into space, lost in thought. {{If only there was some way of safely studying the monster. We could perhaps come up with something a bit more…sure.}}

{{Safely studying the creature doesn't appear to be an option. We have investigated, and the renegade scientist who created the thing, Bertron, is long dead, and his base of operations long since destroyed. The only data we have on his experiments is the creature itself. And studying _it_ is…problematical.}}

{{Is there _no_ way to effectively kill it?}}

Ganthet sighed. {{There doesn't seem to be. Each and every time the monster has been killed, it has returned. Even Darkseid's Omega effect was unable to finally kill it. Quarantine appears to be the most effective response to the monster's incursion into our universe.}}

{{The problem with such a quarantine is that someone may let the monster out, at some point in time, for reasons unknown. As you say, it is not a wholly satisfactory solution. But it may be the only one we have.}}

…..

_Dammit,_ thought Nightwing, _They just had to have energy guns._ Even as he thought that, another volley bracketed his position. Kid Flash was moving as fast as he could, but even he couldn't outrun beam weaponry.

Nightwing signaled to Superboy, also crouched behind cover. _Get ready._ Superboy echoed the signal to the rest of the team, and they donned their goggles.

Then Nightwing readied two disks: the first one, a gas grenade, went off behind the perps' hiding positions, with the cloud of noxious gas billowing out. The perps had, of course, thought to wear rebreathers, so the gas itself was of no effect.

But the second disk was a strober, hovering in mid-air and flashing like a high-intensity disco ball, the beams reflecting and refracting off the gas suspended in the air, disorienting the kidnappers, and making it next to impossible for them to pinpoint their own feet, let alone members of the Team. "Now! _Go!_ Take 'em down!"

Superboy closed with two muscular henchmen, while Nightwing himself accounted for three. Kid Flash knocked the wind out of two more, leaving only two for Artemis, who quickly netted them both with a bolo arrow.

While the suspects were being cuffed, Nightwing and Artemis freed the kidnapped children, all of whom were, of course, completely terrified. "It's alright, kids, you're okay. We'll get you back to your parents," soothed Artemis.

Nightwing zeroed in on one boy, a bit older than the rest, who seemed to be taking things a bit better than the others. "Are you alright?" He asked. The boy looked familiar…wait. Something clicked. "Tommy? Do you remember me?"

"Yes, sir," Tommy said. Tommy was a boy whose mother had been killed by a zombie, a Black Lantern, during the time the newsies had come to call the "Blackest Night" incident. He'd been so traumatized that he'd lost his will to live, until a very recently arrived Ragnar Rok had somehow—just how, nobody, not even Ragnar, was sure—had somehow brought him out of the shell he'd been in. _Poor kid,_ thought Nightwing, _his mother killed before his very eyes, and now this._ "Are you alright, Tommy?"

Tommy seemed very composed, strangely so for a child who'd just been a victim of a kidnapping. And, Nightwing knew, sometimes the rescuing itself can be traumatic…but he seemed to be coping. "Yes, sir." He was looking around. "Where's the other one? The man with the gold ring?"

"He didn't come with us this time. He had to go off on another mission. "Why, Tommy? Did you want me to tell him anything when he gets back?"

Tommy rubbed his eyes. "I, I keep having these dreams…" _I'll bet you do,_ thought Dick. But the child's next words surprised him. "I dream he's in danger. But, but not, not like…" he gestured towards where the kidnappers were being hauled off to jail. "Not like this. Not this kind of danger. Some other kind. Something, something _worse._ I, I don't know how to 'xplain it any better. Something about…I don't know what it is, but it's dangerous. But, but I keep trying, in my dreams, to warn him, to tell him to look out, to not go there. But I never can. I always wake up, 'n' can't go back to sleep 'n' warn him."

Something cold seemed to settle across the back of Nightwing's neck. Once again, here was a hint of something beyond the explainable. He could've understood it if Tommy had dreamed of being in danger himself; he _had_ been. It had taken a magic man with a magic ring to save him from the demons of his own mind before. But to dream about the same magic man being in danger himself? What he knew of the dream psychology of children would seem to indicate that wasn't completely normal. Unless Tommy identified so strongly with Ragnar…"Tommy. Listen to me. Do you know who Sarah Marshall is?"

Tommy looked at him oddly. "No. Why?"

"You don't know any kids named Sarah Marshall who go to your school?"

"No, sir. There are a couple of girls named Sarah, but, but nobody named that."

Nightwing straightened up. "Well, that's alright, Tommy. Here's the people who'll take you back to your folks. You gonna be okay?"

But Tommy clutched at him. "Tell him not to go to the wall."

"The wall?"

"It's a wall. A really really big wall. Hanging in space." A look of fear came into his eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper. "An' it's got _faces_ stuck in it."

Again, that peculiar prickling sensation went down Nightwing's spine.

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8: Talks

The Gold Corps: Gold Justice, Chapter: 8: Talks

"Awright, ya poozers! Lissen up. I'm supposed to pick the best o'ya to go fight yer worst nightmare. And, yes, before some jackass asks, deadly force has been authorized. So no holdin' back. Now. We're gonna begin the absolute _worst_ training you've ever experienced. Standard newbie training is gonna seem like a walk inna park compared to this. Only difference is, ya'll _survive_ this training, these exercises. Barely, but ya will." Kilowog paused, looking at the Lanterns assembled before him. _No matter what,_ he thought, with a sinking sensation in his chest, one that he tried to cover with his bluster,_ some of these guys won't be coming back to Oa. Maybe me included._ He squared his shoulders. His only consolation was, he wouldn't be leading the survivors, if there even were any, back. He wouldn't have to write any letters, explain to any families why their loved one wasn't coming home today.

Because first_ he'd_ fall, himself.

This was what it meant to be a Green Lantern: to go into battles that seemed, and may actually be, hopeless, so that others could go to bed at night, safe and secure. "You! Yeah, you! Zivixx, ain't it? Let's see what'cha got. Come at me!"

…

Ragnar's ship: the processing and translation of the data files was proceeding more or less smoothly. It was still all in an alien language, and sometimes that made for some difficulty in translating, but, for the most part, the overall data transfer was working.

Megan took the brief lull in the operation to check in with Nightwing, via a subspacial link established from John Stewart's ring. "Nightwing? It's me. Anything happening on your end?"

"_No. We did bust another cell of that kidnapping ring. We really could've used your telepathy, but they'll keep for now, at least until you get back. What's happening on your end? Getting any answers?"_

"Unfortunately, yes." She was in a small room apart from the rest of the ship. Intellectually, she knew that pretty much everything that transpired, all she said and did, was being recorded, in some form, by someone. If not the ship's still-functioning computer, then most probably by Stewart's ring itself. "We…made an unfortunate discovery regarding Ragnar's parents. Or, at least, I suppose I should say, it appears we've done so." And she filled him in on the translation they made of the mothership's log.

"_So his parents were __slavers__? Man. That's, uh, harsh."_

"Well, as I told him, there really isn't any _proof,_ one way or another. There could be lots of explanations for that. But he's not taking it well, as you can imagine."

"_Well, __yeah.__"_

"The good news is, at the rate we're currently going, we should be done within a day. All the data is being transferred by secure subspacial link directly to Oa. Maybe they can restore the missing files, or at least link it with other data, make more sense about it."

"_I know you've reassured Ragnar about…how we feel. About him, I mean."_

"Yeah. I told him it doesn't matter what his parents, or his ancestors were like. But he's still beating himself up over it, some. I guess…I can relate to that."

"_Megan…I can tell you're getting into this…in a more personal way than you might normally do. How are __you__ holding up?"_

Megan blushed, suddenly glad this was a voice-only link. He couldn't see her. "I'm alright, Dick." A sigh. "And yeah, I guess I am…getting more into this than is completely professional. But… I mean…"

"_Megan, you don't have to apologize for anything. I just wanted to make sure __you__ were okay. This isn't telling on you, is it?"_

She thought. It was a good question. She'd already realized that she was coming to care about the Gold Lantern as a person, not "just" a "mere" friend, but….as something….more. Then, tiredly, "I'm okay, Dick. I, I don't really know exactly what I'm going to do about…you know. I mean, I told myself, I wasn't gonna get involved with anyone for a long time, but…." She floundered, at a loss for words.

"_Megan, that's okay. I just was a little worried…you know, that this might be, like, rebound syndrome or something."_

Sigh. "For all I know, it could be. I sure don't _want_ it to be; Ragnar's too nice a guy, too much the innocent, to, to do something like that to. But…I guess at some point, we'll have to have a…talk. You know."

"_Uh, yeah, I do know. I've had to have several of those talks, myself. They're seldom fun."_

_I know,_ thought Miss Martian. She still remembered her breakup with Conner. _It was all my fault in the first place._ But what nobody fully understood was that her telepathy wasn't just a "super power" that she was learning to handle, it was like _sight_ to a human. For her _not_ to use it was akin to someone deliberately blindfolding themselves, and learning how to navigate and get around without using their eyes. It simply came _naturally_ for her to use it, and she was always constantly reminded that not everybody _could_ peek underneath the surface the way she did. Or…do things. Like she did. Like she had done.

She'd made some terrible mistakes, it was true. When she'd thought Aqualad was a traitor, she'd hurt him, badly, only to realize, too late, that it was all an undercover plan. And she'd tried to use her telepathy to make Superboy forget an argument…the list, in her mind, went on.

All mistakes. All things she could have done differently. Times when she acted hastily, without full knowledge. Times when she'd unintentionally hurt someone. And…times when she had. "I…I guess I'd better go," she began. Being a shapeshifter didn't mean she could always control her tears, oddly enough.

"_Megan? Are you-*"_

"I'm alright, Nightwing. I'll, I'll be in touch." And she hastily closed the connection….

She opened the door to go rejoin the others—and there sat Ragnar, sitting up against the wall, watching her intently. "Oh! Uhm, Ragnar…I didn't know you were uhm out here…"

"Is something wrong, Megan?"

"No, it's…" She saw his look. "Okay. Well, actually, no, nothing's really _wrong_ as such. It's just…I'm having to sort some things out."

"Things involving me?"

Okay. This could get… "Well, sort of. But, right now, it's more involving…someone else."

"Superboy?"

She stared. "How did you know…?"

"Wally told me. He told me you two used to be what he called 'an item.' It took me a while to understand what he meant. I'm still not totally sure."

"Oh, he is _so dead_ when I get back. But…yeah. Some things that…happened." She came and sat by him, there in the hallway, their backs up against the wall. "I guess I'm trying to, to not hurt you the same way."

His hand covered hers. "Will you tell me about it?"

"It…it isn't really anything…I mean, I, I can't go into detail, not right now. It's just…" She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. "It's just…sometimes…people don't realize how hard it is to, to fit in. Especially when you _don't_ fit in. Sometimes, I feel like I'm a square peg in a world full of round holes."

"Some day I'll understand that statement better. But, in my own way, I believe I know what you are saying." He didn't remove his hand from hers. "Are we an…item?"

_Where's Darkseid when you need him most?_ "Er, well, Ragnar, that's, uhm, well, er, I mean to say…" She wondered if, once she succeeded in twisting off this lock of her hair she had in a death-grip, if she could use her shape-changing powers to put it back on. Would it still be a part of her? "What I'm trying to say is…"

"Megan." He interrupted her gently, still holding her hand. "You, Sarah, the Guardians, and all the others have been telling me to look to the future, not the past. I don't know much about such relationships as you're—_we're_ talking about. But one thing I have come to know: the future only happens when it happens."

"Ragnar, I-*"

"Ssh." He put his finger on her lips. "Let's just see…how that future unfolds, okay? But I want you to know how I feel. I…care for you, Megan. More than I do for any other person, including myself. I don't know, really, what that means, and I don't know how you feel about me, but I want you to know how I feel. Can you accept that? Is that…okay?"

For a long, long moment, she was silent. How _did_ she feel about him? "Ragnar, I-* But abruptly, her communicator chimed. Who? She was light-years away from the Team.

It was Hal Jordan. _"Megan? You and Ragnar might wanna come see this."_

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9: Legacy

The Gold Corps: Gold Justice, Chapter 9 : Legacy

They entered the command room. In front of them, on the large viewscreen that had no doubt served as a navigation screen when the ship was fully functional, was a frozen image…and both Ragnar and Miss Martial caught their breath.

It was an expanded picture of the face of a man, a man with blue skin, just like Ragnar's, but older. His features were Ragnar's almost identically, the only significant difference between the two was the obvious signs of greater age: some small wrinkles around his eyes, and a few streaks of silver in his thick, short-cut black hair. "When we came across this, for some reason, it caught our attention," John Stewart explained to them. "It was underneath some old files, and heavily encrypted; we almost didn't find it, thought it was just some junk. We sent it to Oa, and got this translation back. What you're seeing is the fully restored file we got back from Oa, after the Guardians' computers untangled it. The translation program isn't perfect; some words may not come across. But considering who it obviously is, we thought you should see it. You ready?" He directed his query towards Ragnar.

Ragnar stared, entranced, at the screen. There wasn't much doubt just who this was; the similarities were too close, the features almost his own. Even the expression…this man didn't look as though he smiled a lot. _So familiar. _Mutely, he nodded, a lump in his throat. John turned to the hacked-together control panel and hit the "resume" key.

The picture came alive, with the lips not moving completely in synch with the sound. Close, but not completely. _"My son. If you're viewing this, it'll most likely mean that your mother and I are no long alive. I'm giving the computer the command to hide and encrypt this file, for reasons that should become apparent. You won't have simply stumbled across this file by accident; finding it means you searched for it. And that most likely means we're no longer around. So…_

"_First off, I want you to know a few things. One, we both love you very much. I would give almost anything I can think of to be there with you now. But if you're viewing this, then that's not reality._

"_And two…and this is the hard part…" _And here, the picture paused, not as if the file had paused in play, but because the person recording it hesitated, searching for the right words. "I_t's the delightful job of every parent to tuck their child into bed at night, kiss them on the forehead, and tell them that the monsters under the bed or in the closet aren't really there. I'd give anything I can think of, including what's left of my soul, to be able to do that, now. But if I were there with you now, I couldn't. Because, you see, there __are__ monsters. They're real. I've seen them. And may *{{squark}}* forgive me, forgive us both…I've worked for one. His name was Bertron._

"_He came to our world as a benefactor, and rapidly assumed economic control of our whole planet. In many ways, it was almost a dream come true: no more war, no more fighting amongst ourselves over who grew what where, or who's national symbol waved over which mineral resources. His scientific genius—and he was a genius, I'll give him that—saw to it that disease was virtually eliminated from our planet. Everyone had plenty to eat, thanks to advanced hydroponics, and aquaculture, both techniques he taught us. Education was widespread and available to all, as was medical care, and even entertainment of various sorts. The law was enforced, and people no long had to be afraid to venture out into the streets, as lawbreakers were caught and dealt with, swiftly and harshly. We were one people, one world, one language, one currency. After so many, many thousands of blood-soaked years, we were finally one united planet._

"_But then…." _The speaker paused again. _"Then things…started to…happen. Cracks in the wall around paradise. Rumors. We really should have remembered an ancient bit of wisdom, handed down from a time before our people could even write: Nothing comes without a price._

"_It began small. Some of our worst criminals, those who had been sentenced to either death or confinement for the remainder of their lives, disappeared. To be honest, no one of any significance worried about it, or them. At first._

"_But some people did ask questions. Where did these lawbreakers go? What happened to them? Just out of curiosity, of course._

"_It developed that these criminals, these lawbreakers, were being used in genetic experiments. Bertron's experiments. And nobody complained, really. After all, as he reminded us repeatedly, paradise doesn't come without a price. He needed the raw genetic material for his studies, in order to help us, in order to treat new diseases or birth defects properly. That made sense. We could understand that, and we agreed. We even saw to it that he was given the genetic material taken from stillbirths, and the unborn, those whose mothers chose to…terminate them prior to actual birth. He especially prized those, saying they were ideal, as their genetic patterns were not yet set by advancing maturity. Some wondered why he encouraged the practice. But all such inquiries were met with pretty words and airtight logic, and those asking usually fell silent, satisfied that it was all for the greater good._

"_If only we'd seen where this was leading…but it might have been too late, even then._

"_Overpopulation was beginning to become a problem. We already had star travel, but we ran into an unexpected problem: many worlds that would support life like ours, had things, plants, animals, spores, microorganisms…that we were allergic to. Not always anything life-threatening, more often than not just a decided inconvenience or nuisance. It's difficult to build up a world when you can't stop scratching, or sneezing, or when your eyes water continuously. Our old stories, dating back from our pre-spaceflight era, had never taken that into consideration. And, here again, Bertron's science came to our aid: with the data he'd collected from his experiments, he was able to develop gene therapy, a genetic modification process, actually altering our living DNA to make us more adaptable, better able to, not just live on these worlds, but in fact to thrive upon them._

"_To make a long story short, or at least shorter, by the time I came to know him, Bertron was practically worshipped by our people. He'd saved us not only from ourselves, our own aggression, but from the dangers of disease, poverty, and overusage of our natural resources. And, although we didn't see it at the time, the only price we had to pay was…our freedom. Our collective soul._

"_I started working for Bertron before I graduated from *{{squark}}*. My admiration for him knew no bounds. It was in his service that I met your mother, and she felt the same way. He was a genius, simply put. He was our planetary savior. There was no denying that._

"_But he needed more and more genetic material for his experiments. We obliged him by making our criminal underclass more and more available to him. Soon, we were sending people to prison—that is to say, to his lab—for lesser and lesser crimes._

"_It took your mother to first bring it to my attention, locked, as I was, in hero-worship. What exactly was Berton doing? We already had peace, resources, a frontier to explore, enormous strides in the sciences and the arts. Everyone had not only enough, but plenty. No one went hungry, or homeless, and no one went about afraid to look over his shoulder…except for those who broke the law. Bertron's law. What was he doing, she asked me. What new barriers, new threats to our lives was he now trying to overcome? So I did some research of my own._

"_Since I don't have any idea as to what you already know, I'll have to be careful to tell you things you may already be aware of. Please be patient. That may be difficult for you; it always was for me._

"_The 'criminals' we were sending his way…were being used in ways I found shocking. Apparently, Bertron wasn't satisfied with making our life on *{{static}}* perfect. Instead he sought to create the ultimate lifeform, one that could survive anywhere, overcome any obstacle, regenerate from any defeat, even to return to life after having been killed. He'd been using genetic material culled from us, from our people, to create this lifeform._

"_I have to admit, he'd made some amazing discoveries. But his ways…I found I couldn't reconcile them with anything even remotely right. Your mother had done some investigating of her own, and had come to the same conclusion._

"_The results of our investigations were predictable. Bertron couldn't afford to have his methods called into question, made public. So your mother and I were sentenced for crimes against the state—that is to say, against Bertron-, and we, too, were to be included in the next batch of 'supplies,' destined for his laboratory on the planet where he conducted his experiments._

"_But we had—in a way—anticipated this. We even knew about the result of his work, and that it was, while impressive, also terrifying. There was no defeating the creature he'd created. No matter how many times it was killed, it always came back, stronger than before. The creature was a one-being holocaust, if it ever got loose in the galaxy. There would be no way of stopping it. Whole worlds would die. Because of us._

"_We wracked our brains, your mother and I, long into the night, trying to come up with something, __anything__, that could undo or at least affect what Bertron had done. And….we came up with something. I, I don't know if it will work or not, but it's the only thing we could come up with, especially on such short notice."_ On the screen, the figure ran his hands through his hair, momentarily looking away from the screen, as though afraid of disturbing someone.

"_We managed to insinuate ourselves onto a very certain 'supply' ship, carrying a horde of convicts to Bertron's processing center. While en route, we sabotaged the ship's star drive engine. I'd like to be able to tell you that everyone on board that ship was able to get to safety, but I cannot._

"_What was important, more important than our own lives, was that you were saved. For encoded within your genetic structure is the key to defeating this monster. _

"_We've managed to isolate and distill *{{squarwk}}*, taken, stolen from Bertron's own lab. It's the genetic material taken straight from the creature he's taken to calling 'the Ultimate.' This, that we have, culled from his own experiments, processed down, and altered slightly, is implanted within you, boy. It's the only thing we could come up with, in such a hurry, that has even the slightest chance of working. We've utilized Bertron's own gene therapy technique to implant this into you, into your genetic structure. You will represent the best and the brightest of our entire race. And for all I know, you might be the last of us left in the universe. I hope not, but... I only hope you aren't alone. And that there are others, there, with you, seeing this for the first time or the fortieth, it won't matter. _

"_What we're doing is a very desperate maneuver. It may not work. And getting you to safety will almost certainly cost us our lives. But you, son, and you alone, hold the key to defeating this creature, this monster that we've allowed, in our ignorance, in our arrogance, in our wish for a paradise made by another's hands, to be manufactured from our own bodies."_

Megan glanced over at Ragnar. He stood, as if transfixed, eyes wide, staring at the screen. It was clear he saw nothing else in the room. Just the image on the screen.

The face on the monitor screen softened, gazing out at a future – and a son-he would never see. _"I… Well. Perhaps in another life, another universe, far away, we are all together, and there are no monsters to destroy. Perhaps, there, you, your mother and I, are a happy family. Perhaps there we go to parks, and play games. Perhaps there I teach you how to fish, only to have you catch more fish than I do the first time out. I've give…so much just to catch a glimpse of that world. Just to know it's __possible__. Per...haps..." _His voice broke, and he took another breath, and once again, the look of determination came back into his eyes.

"_But as things stand, you may well be life's only hope._

"_It is my hope that, by now, by the time you're able to decode and decrypt this message, that you've become, or are becoming, the sort of man that's needed to do what must be done. If you're anything at all like your mother, you will be."_ The blue face smiled, just a little, remembering._ "I once saw her stand in front of armed soldiers, with guns leveled at her, daring them to shoot her, in defense of some helpless innocents behind her. But whether or not you do this, is, of course, up to you. And that's the way it should be. There's no pre-programming built into the *{{squarwk}}*-nothing's going to make you *{{squarwk}}* *{{klikiklikit}}* the monster. It will have to be your own decision. I only regret that I won't be there to …that I won't be there." _Here, the face on the screen looked off, slightly. Then, _"As I'm recording this, you're sleeping in your cradle. Your mother is asleep; she's had a hard day."_ Once again, a smile touched the face of blue-skinned man on the screen. _"Evidently, you've a fondness for getting fed late at night, and it was her turn, but I took it instead. And I'm recording this._

"_I know this is a lot to take in, but I cannot stress its importance enough. It may seem like something from some old melodrama, but you may literally be the only hope the universe has against this holocaust creature."_ The message ran out, the screen displaying only static.

"Right," muttered John Stewart, under his breath. "No pressure."

_To be continued…_


	10. Chapter 10: Search

The Gold Corps: Gold Justice, Chapter 10: Search

"Well, this is good news," said Hal. The others looked at him. "What the recording, what your father was doubtless warning us about was the creature we called Doomsday. And Doomsday's already dead. Superman killed him, not all that long ago. So…good news. Whatever this, this gene-mod they put into you is, you won't be needing it, Ragnar."

"_Would that it were so, Lantern Jordan,"_ came Ganthet's voice from the ether, the holographic image springing up from Jordan's ring, _"but it would seem that the report of the monster's demise was a bit hasty. We have been informed of a…disturbance that can only be attributed to the creature you call 'Doomsday,' which, by the way, is a most fitting pseudonym._

"_We have dispatched a strike team to the last known coordinates of the monster's latest depredations. As of yet, they have not reported in." _The image paused, as Ganthet gathered his thoughts. _"Needless to say, we will require young Ragnar to return to Oa. It is imperative that we discover the nature of this…this weapon his parents implanted within him."_ The holographic image turned to Ragnar. _"Do you have any knowledge of the weapon this recording could have been referring to?"_

"No, Guardian Ganthet. All this is, as the saying goes, 'news to me.'" Pause. "Though I am…immensely relieved to discover…what I have." Megan took his hand, smiled up at him. _Told'ja!_ "I will, of course return to Oa. But my friend will probably be needed back on Earth."

Megan opened her mouth to protest, when Hal spoke up. "That's doable. John can escort you to Oa, Ragnar, and I'll take Miss Martian back to Earth. From what I gather, she's overstayed her leave time on this matter already."

….

Oa: Ragnar was poked, probed, and prodded almost to the point of physical injury. Blood (red blood, just like any human's, though of a type the Guardians had never seen before) was drawn by the liter, it seemed. And over and over he was asked the same questions. {{You _must_ know _some_thing, young Ragnar. Your father could not have known of your ring; that only transpired later in your life. Has there been nothing at all that you found…curious?}}

"Nothing I can think of. Would that I could. From what you have told me, this 'Doomsday' is definitely a creature we could all live without."

The Guardians conferred. {{Have you run the meson tomography?}} asked one.

{{Yes. He does have a decidedly robust genetic code, but nothing all that outstanding. Not of the sort we are looking for, at any rate.}}

Ganthet cast about for something, anything. He turned to Ragnar, still lying on the examination table. {{Tell me, young one: have you ever been sick?}}

"No, Guardian Ganthet. I have not."

{{Ever? In your whole life?}}

"Never."

{{Any broken bones, contusions, abrasions, anything of that nature?}}

"As a matter of fact, yes. I once broke my arm, when I was much younger."

{{And did your ship's automated systems repair that for you?}}

"No. There was no need."

{{No need?}}

He shrugged, still there on the table. "There was no need. Broken bones don't really hurt that much, and they heal fairly swiftly."

Pause. {{Er, how swiftly did you heal from this injury?}}

"I…don't really know, since I didn't have much concept of time such as other people use. Perhaps a few minutes."

The Guardians looked at each other. {{You healed from a broken bone in a span of _minutes?_}}

"Yes. Is that unusual?"

Ganthet turned to the rest. {{This may be the key.}} Again, he turned to Ragnar. {{Did this ever happen again?}}

"No. Though come to think of it, I have fallen since that incident, in ways that, in retrospect, probably should have broken bones. But I have never broken another."

{{What have our scans determined about his bone structure?}}

{{His bones are not the same as most other humanoids. They seem to be…of a molecular structure I've never encountered, akin to a carbon-graphene analog. But it is not that; we cannot identify the material; it may be a new substance altogether.}}

Ganthet thought, though he did not share this with the others: _It is highly unlikely that they were __always_ _that way._

…

Lightray had followed the trail of devastation left by the monster as it made its way from one star to the next. Highfather had been right: the creature seemed to target the most technologically developed worlds. But it was thorough; once it had demolished one world, it would move to the next one, perhaps a bit lesser developed planet.

He was appalled by the monster's sheer insatiable bloodlust. The thing didn't even leave any plants or animals behind it, seeking out and utterly destroying every ecosystem it could. In a couple of cases, it seemed to be intelligent enough to know that disrupting the planet's geological stability could produce the desired effect, that of extinguishing all life on the globe, and had set off several earthquakes, tsunamis, and supervolcanoes. Lightray wondered if the monster was acting on instinct alone, or if it possessed some measure of intelligence. He wasn't sure which theory he found more frightening. _What twisted mentality came up with such a creature as this, anyway?_

Evidently, the creature had developed some rudimentary power of flight. Lightray wasn't really surprised. But he could track its electromagnetic trail. It led him straight into a thickly-populated asteroid belt.

He was navigating his way through this belt when something unbelievably powerful hit him from behind, and all went dark.

…..

_Ping! Ping! Ping! _Highfather's mother box chimed the alarm. Izaya looked at the readouts…"Orion, Metron, Uggha…it looks like contact has been established sooner than expected. Prepare yourselves." And he opened a boom tube straight to Lightray's position.

…

Kilowog's strike team was just then entering the star system where the latest projections indicated they'd find Doomsday. It wasn't hard to find; immediately, all their rings began chiming, indicating powerful forces at work in the system's asteroid belt. Inward they plunged, readying themselves for anything.

Lightray floated in open space, his lower half no longer responsive. Doomsday had broken his back. His mother box could heal him, but it would take time, and he doubted the monster would give him that much. A silent flare of light announced the arrival of Highfather and the others. "Hold, creature of evil! Turn and face us!"

"Yes!" roared Orion, speeding towards the thing, "This will be your _last_ battle, monster!" And, heedless of Izaya's calls, he plunged headfirst into the fray.

…

Kilowog's ring was going berserk. There were energies being brought into play here that rivaled that of the Big Bang itself, though not on such a scale. He wisely checked their progress, sending in Zivixx and Rron-El to scout out the situation.

…

Orion was grappling with the monster, hand to hand. While he had more skill, the monster outmatched him in terms of sheer strength. It locked its arms around him in a death-hug…

…and Uggha's thrown hammer struck it from behind, forcing the creature to release Orion. Orion readied a blast of his astro-force…

…and the monster turned, with startling speed, and, snatching up Uggha's hammer, neatly deflected his blast. "I'll be taking that back, creature," snarled Uggha, grabbing his hammer, using his own power to force the monster into releasing it….

…only to have the thing send a powerful electrical charge _through_ the hammer, nearly frying Uggha's nervous system. He couldn't let go. "_Ha! Ha!" _went the beast, though none could hear it, there in the airlessness of space. The monster kicked Uggha's burned and scorched body away, still retaining his hammer.

Lady Shadowfall's arrows rained upon the creature. At first, they seemed to actually hurt it…but it recovered, and succeeding arrows simply bounced off its seemingly impervious hide. It even caught a few, and hurled them back at her, although with no real accuracy.

Through it all, Metron remained on the sidelines. He knew he was no warrior, and that his talents were best utilized in analyzing their opponent. But he found his own skills sorely tested by the beast's apparent ability to come up with whatever power it needed at the moment to vanquish whoever it was facing. In the back of his mind, he was also puzzled by the question as to whether the monster was sentient or not. It displayed some ability to think…or did it? Was it running solely off instinct? He found he couldn't analyze its patterns of attack sufficiently to correlate with either scenario…

All throughout the battle, Izaya watched. He knew, with the wisdom of many many battles, that he would have to step in, even as he did before, but he found himself wondering if even his power could affect the thing now. "Orion! Get Lightray and fall back!" He readied his scepter; at full power, the power of the scepter could actually rend space and time, opening a rift in the universe through which the monster would fall. Surely, even _it_ couldn't survive being outside of space/time itself. He aimed his scepter….

…and the monster threw Uggha's hammer straight at him, catching him totally off-guard, and knocking the scepter out of his grip…

….and into the grinning monster's own hands.

_To be continued?_


	11. Chapter 11: Joining Forces

The Gold Corps: Gold Justice, Chapter 11: Joining Forces

Kilowog's team waited at a distance from the battle, sizing up the events. There was no love lost between the Green Lanterns and the gods of New Genesis, especially not since the latter had sought to acquire all the power rings in existence, in order to forge a weapon against Darkseid. Still, Kilowog had to admit, in this instance, they were on the same side. When the monster caught Highfather's scepter, Kilowog signaled to his team, through his ring: _hit him hard and fast—'Vixx, you hit 'im high and behind, El, you go low and in front.'_ And he readied himself….

The Green Lanterns' beams caught both monster and gods completely off-guard. The creature spun head over heels, still not completely accustomed to combat in weightless, airless space. Its hold on Highfather's scepter loosened, ever so slightly….

Which was precisely what Kilowog was looking for. Diving in, he dealt the monster a two-handed blow that would have crushed a building, and, at the same time, grabbed the scepter, and immediately moving back out of range.

The beast hesitated for just a moment…and that was all Orion needed to send a blast of astro-force its way. Attacked from several different fronts, the creature decided, for perhaps the first time in its entire life, that a strategic relocation was in order. It dodged behind an asteroid, and, grabbing another one, smashed the two together, creating an expanding dust and debris cloud that effectively hid its retreat.

Orion rounded on Kilowog. "We did not need your help, Lantern! We had matters under control, until you interfered!" The battle-lust was still upon him, and he was just _looking_ for an excuse to vent it.

"Could've fooled me. Anyway," he said, brushing past a still seething Orion, approached Izaya, handing him the scepter. "I b'leeve you dropped this."

Izaya studied the newcomers intently. Unlike his hot-headed son, he knew better than to antagonize those who'd come to their aid. That only made two enemies where, before, only one had existed. "Thank you," he said, taking the scepter from Kilowog. Inwardly, he shuddered at the thought of what the monster could have done, had it mastered the scepter's power. "I take it your being here, in such numbers," he nodded to Kilowog's strike team, still standing at the ready, "was no coincidence."

"Ya got that right." Kilowog nodded in the direction of the monster's last whereabouts. "This thing's been going from world to world ever since it got here. Wasn't exactly makin' friends, either. The Guardians sent us to deal with it. As in 'kill its ass dead.'" He nodded towards Uggha's form, and Lightray's. "If your people need medical care…"

"We do not. Our mother boxes will heal us, given time. We…thank you for your concern." He shot a stern look at a still boiling Orion. "In this case, we have a common foe. We are not at odds in this." This last directed more at Orion than Kilowog. Orion turned away, still visibly struggling to master his temper. "And I understand about your being under orders." Pause. "Perhaps, in this case, since our objectives converge, you might be of assistance to us." _The enemy of my enemy…_

Kilowog grunted. This was no time to be arguing over jurisdiction. "Sounds like a plan ta me."

….

Earth: Nightwing and Miss Martian were busy "interrogating" the prisoners from the last raid.

Telepathy is not a cut and dried solution to all problems. In many instances, one has to delve deeply into the mind of the person being scanned, so deeply that damage can result to that person's psyche. It was often a more productive technique, and less invasive, for Nightwing to be asking the perp questions, and having Megan standing by, in the next room, ready to catch any stray thoughts related to said questions. Even if the person being questioned remains silent, he or she cannot help but _think_ of the answer.

Unfortunately, none of the prisoners really knew anything. All they knew was, they'd been hired to kidnap children within a certain age category, and had been provided with sensors that would determine the genotype sought. And they had been under strict orders that said children were not to be harmed in any way, shape, form, or fashion. They had not been given any explanations, only paid. As far as they were concerned, that was good enough. "Damn, damn, _damn,"_ muttered Nightwing, as he went over the reports. He, Megan, and Aqualad were perusing the data in the conference room. "_None_ of these creeps knows the slightest thing."

"Are you really surprised?" asked Kaldur'ahm. "They're basically hired muscle. How much would you tell your henchmen, knowing they could be caught and possibly mind-scanned?"

"Point taken. But I had hoped they'd know _something._ Those ray blasters they used on us were definitely not Earth tech. Not even Lexcorp ever produced anything like that, working on that principle."

"You sent those files upstairs, correct? Along with the guns?" Meaning to the Justice League. "Did they have any further information?"

"None I know of. And, to make matters worse, these guys didn't have any idea of any other kidnapping cells. As far as they were concerned, they were acting alone. But _we_ know they _weren't_ alone. There've been other such cells we've busted." He sighed. "Two steps forward, three back."

"Not necessarily. We _did_ succeed in shutting down this particular cell, this operation. So there's that."

"Perhaps. Maybe I'm expecting too much, too soon." He turned to Megan, who hadn't said a word during the whole conversation. "M'gann? You've been awfully quiet. Did you find out anything more about Ragnar?" The green girl had been uncharacteristically silent since returning to Earth.

"Yes." And she related their discoveries to Nightwing. "So it seems like his parents…put something in him, modified his genetic code, in order to defeat Doomsday. But what, we don't know."

"Wait. Ragnar's supposed to go up against _Doomsday?_ _The_ Doomsday? _That_ Doomsday? How?"

"We…nobody knows. Ragnar sure doesn't know, himself. Right now, he's being studied by the Guardians. I suppose, if anybody can find out how he's supposed to, to do whatever with that horror, they can." But she sounded tired.

They adjourned, Aqualad heading for the pool, with Nightwing and Miss Martian walking down the hallway towards her room. "Megan? I can tell something's bothering you. Would you like to talk about it?"

Again a sigh. "Thanks, Dick, but…truth is, I can't really put it into words myself. I, I just have this terrible feeling. I keep telling myself that his parents wouldn't just send him up against Doomsday without some sort of adequate preparation, but…I can't shake the feeling that…" And here she trailed off, unsure of what to say, herself. Not to mention a little afraid…

"…that he's gonna get himself killed?" She nodded, wordlessly. "M'gann…I know I don't know all about what you and he learned, but I can't believe any parent who cared anything at all about their child would, would just toss that child to the wolves, so to speak. And I can't imagine a bigger wolf than Doomsday. And Ragnar's no fool; I don't see him as rushing headlong into a battle he knows he can't win. That ring of his may be powerful, but we've seen that power rings—no matter what color-don't seem to be all that effective against the monster.

"Personally, I think the Guardians will determine just what gene-mod his folks put in him, and use it against Doomsday. I mean, I just don't see them as sending him out half-cocked, so to speak." He changed the subject slightly. "So the message seemed to indicate that Ragnar possesses some of Doomsday's genetic material?" Another wordless nod. "Hm. That's…interesting." And a little unsettling.

But privately, he had a hunch where this was going.

_To be continued…_


	12. Chapter 12: Hunches

The Gold Corps: Gold Justice, Chapter 12: Hunches

Oa: Lianna called Ganthet to one side. {{I have a confession to make. Plus, I need your input on a matter regarding the Gold Lantern. In private.}}

They moved into a small cubicle from which they could see the results of the ongoing tests. {{Alright. We are alone. Now, what did you need from me?}}

She hesitated. {{I acted without authorization. I infected Ragnar Rok with the virus XM-115.}}

Ganthet was stunned. {{_What?_ That is the deadliest virus known to us! Certain death! And you infected Rok with this? Why?}}

{{I had a hunch. Based on what he told us, about breaking his arm, combined with the message his father left him, I…Well. Perhaps I can show you better than I can tell you.}} She summoned up the test results on Ragnar, onto the screen, there, in the room. {{I infected him two standard days ago. The virus acts very quickly, as you know. Yet…look.}} She showed him the images, the readouts.

{{I…I see no trace of any foreign virus. What happened?}}

{{I watched the scans very closely, once I had injected the virus into his circulatory system. Now look:}} She instructed the computer to run a progressive slide show of the electron microscope's scan of the cells in Ragnar's body. {{See those protein chains? That's the virus. Watch.}}

The virus chains "stuck" to the outer cell walls, and rapidly entered into the cells themselves. But rather than highjacking the cell's DNA, they were incorporated into the cell's basic structure. The whole process took only a few minutes; the virus chains themselves were, not destroyed, but actually assimilated into Ragnar's body. {{And he showed no sign of illness whatsoever.}}

{{Hm.}} Ganthet thought. He knew there were some races, some species, that had the ability to heal themselves rapidly, but this was beyond that. The virus labeled XM-115 was the deadliest the Guardians had ever come across. Infection invariably meant death within a matter of hours, or less. {{And he never even noticed?}}

She shook her head. {{Never. And this corresponds with what he told us, about never being sick. And about his breaking his arm; his healing factor is several orders of magnitude above anything in our experience.}}

{{Hm.}} Ganthet rubbed his chin, a gesture not confined to humans {{Yet, he was assaulted with a perfectly ordinary knife, on Earth. That almost killed him.}}

{{I'd be willing to wager that, were that to be tried now, it would prove ineffective. Remember, he doesn't just recover quickly; the evidence points to his actually _adapting_ to harmful events. He himself stated that he never again broke a bone, even though he fell in ways that seemed to him as though he ought to.}}

{{But what to make of this? He heals more rapidly than any other organism on record, aside, that is, from Doomsday himself. This can't be the weapon his parents placed within him, can it?}}

She sighed. {{I don't see how. But it is a factor to consider.}}

He shook his head. {{I cannot sanction your actions. But I also cannot deny the fact that it did provide us with more data. He shows no signs of infection? None, whatsoever?}} In the past, whole worlds had had to be quarantined, decimated, due to an outbreak of XM-115. Many worlds had become "ghost planets," their entire populace killed by the fast-acting virus. {{This…fits in with what the recording was telling us: that young Ragnar seems to have something of the monster's own healing ability. But how, _how,_ can this be the key to stopping the monster's rampage? Or is it, even?}}

….

Ragnar was flying back to Earth, accompanied by John Stewart. The two were conversing, via their respective rings. "So, did the Guardians come up with anything?"

"Nothing they told me about. The only thing they said was, I seem to heal rapidly from any injury. I previously had…I suppose, taken that for granted."

John flew alongside him for a moment, studying him. "Ragnar…it seems like something's bothering you."

Ragnar nodded. "The knowledge of impending death usually does, John Stewart.

"Whaaat?"

But the Gold Lantern would say no more.

….

Earth, Mt. Justice: the team convened. "Well, the good news is, we've stopped three cells of kidnappers. There've been no other instances of such kidnapping; maybe we got them all.

"J'onn tells us to be on the lookout, of course, and take nothing for granted. Ragnar? What happened on Oa?"

"Nothing that relates to the subject." Ever since returning from Oa, Ragnar had been…quiet. Reserved. Even Megan had not been able to draw him out of his shell.

Nightwing gave him a sideways look. "They didn't have to anything to say about Doomsday?"

"Nothing…that would really help. Only that the monster and I seem to share certain genetic similarities. I don't suppose I need to tell you I find that somewhat unsettling."

Nightwing looked at him a little more intently. "Ragnar…I hope you aren't blaming yourself, or your parents, either…for Doomsday's rampages. From what the recording said, they essentially gave their lives in an effort to stop the thing."

"I know, Nightwing. It…I thank you for…your concern." He still refused to meet their gazes.

"You…are sure you have nothing else to say, to add to this?" Silence. "Well, just know one thing: the matter of Doomsday is being handled. I'm sure the Guardians have probably sent out their own people, and those people are probably armed to the teeth, or whatever they have in place thereof, with whatever knowledge, information, that they gleaned from you." He tilted his head. Something was clearly bothering their newest member, but… "You can't blame yourself for this. This all took place long before you came on the scene."

"Yes, Nightwing. I understand that." He still refused to meet their eyes.

"Well, if nobody has anything else to add…I suppose that wraps up this meeting. We'll reconvene at 0600 hours."

The various team members got up, as did Ragnar, turning to go. Megan caught him by the elbow. "Ragnar. We need to talk."

"Of course, Miss Martian. What would you like to talk about?" Standing there in the entrance to the meeting chamber.

"'Miss Martian'? What happened to _Megan_? I thought we were on a first name basis. Was I wrong?"

"Of course not, Megan. It's just…" He paused, clearly preoccupied with something else. Then, "I am deliberating whether or not I should undergo a gene-scan. I've a hunch—only a hunch, but-that the kidnapping ring we're currently dealing with may be seeking something in my genetic code."

"What? Why?"

"As I said, it is only a hunch. But something tells me it is. Call it 'intuition,' or something."

"Well," she said, her mind distracted, just as he had hoped, "That's easily enough done. C'mon." And she led him down the hallway towards the team's lab.

….

"It's not an exact match, but it's closer than anything we come up with so far." Nightwing chewed on a knuckle, examining the readouts. Ragnar and Megan looked on. "I'd say, if I were the kidnappers, that you're probably what they're seeking. But I can't figure out why."

Ragnar shifted, uneasily. "I am very much afraid I know."

"You do?" Nightwing swiveled around to look at him. Megan looked up surprised. "Well, don't keep us in suspense. Why would they seek out DNA like yours?"

"Consider. This monster, this beast you call Doomsday has evidently traveled across the universe, decimating world after world. This scientist my father spoke of, this Bertron, evidently left no records of his experiments, at least nothing that survived. The only clear information on the monster's DNA is…within me. My father stated I had DNA taken straight from the beast. In a sense, I'm related to it. So, not to sound immodest, they seek my DNA out in order to gather data about the monster. It is a creature of science; any counter to it must also come from science. But obviously they cannot study the monster's genetic make-up directly. But they, whoever 'they' are, _can_ study _mine_."

Megan was thoughtful. "Sooo….these people, this group, what have you…want to study you to learn more about Doomsday. But why?"

He drew a deep breath. "Two possible reasons: one, they are looking for some weakness in the monster's genetic code, something they can exploit, to stop it.

"Or two…." He trailed off

Dick's eyes widened as he understood. "They're looking to create their _own_ _version of Doomsday_. A counter-Doomsday. Like a, a genetic arms race."

"Precisely. At least, that seems logical."

…..

The gods and Kilowog's team were busy scouring the star system. "What I can't figure," muttered Kilowog, "Is how it developed the power of flight. It never has before; why should things change now?"

"Unknown," replied Metron. Izaya had paired him with Kilowog, whilst the other Lanterns were paired with one or more of the other gods. "The beast seems to develop whatever gifts it needs in order to overcome any foe. It might be theorized that whatever mechanism is working in it, decided that being able to fly from world to world would be a beneficial adaptation. That is only logical. But I confess to a puzzle: why has the creature _only now_ developed this power? All evidence shows that, in the past, even when dealing with beings able to fly, it did not present with any such attribute."

Kilowog approached several asteroids carefully. LIghtray had been caught totally off-guard by the monster, by the simple expedient of it hiding behind a rock. Kilowog wasn't about to repeat that mistake. "D'you suppose," he asked, while he scanned the area, "that this thing could have, like, an _agenda_, an actual plan that goes beyond just killing everything it comes across?"

"Again, unknown. I lack the data to even formulate a hypothesis as to any such agenda. It doesn't seem to work towards any goal save destruction for its own sake. Hm." He rubbed his chin. "I wonder…as the monster evolves, as it adapts, so, too, might its goals. It is certainly a matter to take under consideration." Pause. Then, "Though, personally, aside from the imminent destruction of all creation, I cannot imagine a worse state of affairs."

…..

Mt. Justice. Nightwing had uploaded the data he'd gleaned from Ragnar's cell samples. "It looks a whole lot closer to what the kidnappers were looking for. But, from what he said, even the Guardians aren't sure as to what to make of it. I mean, if his parents sought to create a, a counter-Doomsday, they didn't succeed. But the distinct probability that somebody, out there, is looking for a gene-type like he's got, implies that _somebody_ knows what to do with it. Or at least has a theory."

"Indeed," muttered J'onn J'onzz, looking over the data. "As you say, young Ragnar, while extremely adaptive and decidedly healthy, is definitely not another Doomsday. And he knows nothing, himself?"

"No, sir. But…something. Remember that last kidnapping cell we busted? Turns out Tommy Walker was one of the captives. And….he told me something." He went on to relate Tommy's recurring dream, and the imagery in it, and Tommy's fear that somehow Ragnar was in danger. "I don't see how this could be coincidence. It's more than obvious that the wall in question, the one he saw in his dream, is the Source Wall. But how Tommy knew of it, I don't know. It's not common knowledge on Earth. And he seemed almost desperate that Ragnar not go there. He didn't know why."

"Another mystery. I shall inquire, through channels, if the Guardians know anything regarding this matter. We know that the force that powers the various power rings lies beyond that wall, a reservoir of emotional-spectrum light. Or perhaps more than a mere reservoir. But we also know how dangerous it is for any being—mortal or immortal—to attempt the breach that barrier. Your young Mr. Walker had no further information to impart?"

"None. But the simple fact that he had what he had is…disturbing, all by itself."

"Indeed. That is certainly one way of looking at it." He turned and looked off to one side. "We shall continue with our gathering of facts. In the meantime, have you come up with anything regarding Batman's non-appearance during the Blackest Night?" It was not common knowledge, even among the superhero community, that Batman, _the_ Batman, was actually dead. Gotham's underworld would have had a field day.

Nightwing shook his head. "Nothing. But that in itself tells us something. The clues, all of them more overtly available, all point just a little too obviously towards Bruce Wayne being dead. It's like clue-overkill, if you get my meaning."

"Hm. Yes, it would be obvious to anyone that Bruce Wayne is no longer among the living. Or perhaps I should say, it would be obvious to anyone _else._ I trust you will continue your researches into this matter. It could prove crucial."

"I will, sir. But one thing: if, as we suppose, Bruce did manufacture his own death somehow, do we have the right to, to, well, demolish that illusion he has, evidently, spent so much time and effort on?"

"A point. But we are not working to capture or kill him, Nightwing. On the other hand, these very subtle, hidden clues you keep finding…are most probably not being found only by you. I feel certain that others, with less pleasant goals in mind, are also scanning the globe, looking for him. It may be in everyone's benefit, including Bruce Wayne's, that we find him first. Watchtower out."

_To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13: Conversations

The Gold Corps: Gold Justice, Chapter 13: Conversations

Megan was becoming concerned. Ragnar had taken to keeping to himself a lot lately, coming out of his room only for training sessions and meetings. And those times she had seen him, he'd had the look of one obsessed with something he'd really rather not think about.

_Enough is enough,_ she thought, standing there at the door to his room, signaling for entrance. "Come," said a voice from within.

She opened the door and entered. "Ragnar, look. We need to talk." He was poring over something that looked like blueprints. "What are you doing?"

Again, that abstracted look. "I am…studying ways to make my ship fully functional again."

"What? Why?"

"It's…just a project." But she could tell he was attempting to deflect her.

"Ragnar, look. This hermit philosophy you seemed to've developed in the last few days…don't you think it's time to stop it?"

"I'm…sure I don't know what you mean." With a guilty look on his face.

"What you're trying to do, here, is known on Earth as the 'brush off.' Now come on." She paused. "Is it something…between us?"

"No! I mean, no, it's nothing to do with, with, I mean…"

She came up and took his arm. "Look, Ragnar. I can sorta see what's going on here, even without telepathy." _Which never worked very well with you, anyway._ "Ever since you learned about…things…this gene mod your parents put in you, you've been decidedly nonpresent whenever you could. You wouldn't, by some chance, be planning on flying off and challenging the thing on your own, were you?"

"I…no…well…I mean…"

"Thaaat's what I was afraid of. Ragnar, you can't be the Lone Ranger here." She saw his puzzled look. "What I mean by that is, you can't, and in fact, you _shouldn't_ take on all this responsibility for yourself. The whole purpose of being a member of a team means you don't do these things all by yourself. Some things are too big for any one person. Even Superman has the Justice League to back him up. So…what's had you so distracted, lately?"

He leaned against the table, and hung his head. "It's just…Megan, I, I feel this terrible sense of _responsibility_. It's almost as though _I_ were the monster, out there, doing all these terrible things."

"Well, you're not. Here, come over here." And she led him to the small couch in his room. She sat down, and drew him down beside her. "Now. Sit back, and breathe deeply. In and out."

"Megan, I-*"

"No buts! Just do it!" she commanded. He sighed, leaned back against the couch, and complied. After a few minutes, he relaxed somewhat, closing his eyes. "Alright now. Now tell me what's got you so upset that you'd close _me_ out? I mean, I thought we were a, you know."

He looked up, honestly puzzled. "What's a 'you know'?"

She dithered. "Well, you know, sorta…"

Blank look. "No. What…what do you mean?"

Finally, she acquiesced. "I thought we were on our way to becoming… more than just friends."

"Oh. Oh, yes. I, I believe I see what you mean." _Even if I don't fully understand it,_ his expression said. "I, I hope you, uh, aren't referring to some sort of reproductive procedure." It might have been her imagination, but he seemed to tense suddenly.

"No! I mean, not…quite…_that_. Not…not yet, anyway." He relaxed somewhat; so did she. "I…it's just… Look. Let's start from the beginning, okay? What's got you so upset?" She drew her legs up underneath her, there on the couch beside him. Ragnar noted that she really had quite attractive legs, what he could see of them. They were indeed pleasant to look at. He wondered why that thought had never occurred to him before.

"Megan, it's just…you've said this is too big a responsibility for one person. But my parents _put something in me_ that they thought could destroy this monster." He got up suddenly, and began pacing. "So I feel like…it's my responsibility to, to do something. Every hour, every minute I wait, means that creature is out there, hurting or killing people." He stopped and turned to her. "How can I _not_ see that as my responsibility? I've even had dreams about this, before I knew about it, even." And he told her again about his dreams, about being somehow responsible for the death of worlds. "I don't want anyone else to die because I did not take action." He abruptly sat down beside her, and ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture that was almost an exact duplicate for the gesture his father had used, in the video file they'd uncovered, back on his ship. "But the problem is, I don't know what to _do._ Nightwing is right when he says that, no matter how powerful my ring is, such power rings don't seem to be able to stop this creature. Mine may have certain properties, qualities that the green ones don't, but I'm fairly sure it's not enough. Plus, as Ganthet said, my parents couldn't have known about the ring; that only happened long after they were both dead." He stopped, abruptly, as though simply running out of anything to say.

"So," she began, "What's with trying to get your ship running?"

"I don't know. It just…seemed like a place to start."

"But, Ragnar…you've been at this for days now. You haven't slept, you've barely eaten anything…you can't go on pushing yourself like this!"

He sighed and leaned back against the couch. It was…good that his friend was here, with him, and he regretted avoiding her. But how could he make her understand? "I _can't_ sleep. Something, something in the back of my mind keeps running and running, like a computer program on an infinite loop. I can't rest, food has no taste…" He leaned back, closing his eyes, trying to shut out the images his subconscious kept bringing up: the bodies, piled high, the screams…

…and what looked so very much like himself, laughing with diabolical glee, at the wanton carnage.

Megan sat there, beside him, not really knowing what to say. Part of her, a small part, but a part, was wishing they'd never found that message from the past. But they had, and now her friend (?) was feeling a call to duty. A duty that would set him on a collision course with the most dangerous creature anyone had ever heard of.

A call to a certain and final darkness.

So she drew him back, to where he was leaning on her shoulder. "Just…stay with me here, a moment, will you, Ragnar? Just…lie with me here. Just for a little bit." Exhausted in spite of his driving need to stop the monster, he leaned back against her.

And she very carefully, very subtly insinuated her mind into his, not actually penetrating his mind, but just brushing around the edges, calming him, soothing him, in a manner that Martian females had instinctively utilized for thousands, tens of thousands of years, to calm the males of the species in times like these. His head rested back against her shoulder, and his breathing became deeper and more regular. Soon he was fast asleep.

She studied him, while he slept. In sleep, his face took on a softer, much younger look, and she realized she was seeing the face of the child he'd never had the luxury of being. She shook her head slightly, a few strands of her auburn hair interspersing with his own night-black thatch. Ragnar had never played with other boys, never known the simple joy of a new toy, or a holiday with family. All he'd ever had was the hardscrabble need to survive…and it had left its mark on him. Megan had had her own woes…but she had, at least, family. She'd had _someone._

And, shortly thereafter, she herself fell asleep, her head resting on his.

…

_It looked like the ruins of a mighty temple, the columns supporting the roof ascending endlessly up into the sky. The air was murky; not polluted, but somehow foggy, and she couldn't see very far in any direction. Something was out there, something huge, something she couldn't see, something crashing around outside her field of view. All around her were revolving mirrors, but for some reason, she could not see herself reflected in them. It was as if she didn't exist._

_Of course, she knew where she had to be. Being a telepath, she was more accustomed to this sort of thing than one who was not. She'd fallen asleep in contact with Ragnar, and this had to be a construct of his mind. In a sense, she was inside his mind, maybe his soul, even. She couldn't see very far in any direction because __he__ couldn't see very far in any direction. The mirrors…they were a problem._

_For some reason, it seemed extremely important that she look into them, that she see what was being reflected, if not herself. But as she approached the nearest one, a sense of dread gripped her, a fear she'd never felt before, even facing terrible foes. For within these mirrors was something monstrous, something so terrible that calling it "evil" was like candy-coating it. Something she found she couldn't bear to look at, let alone identify. She felt ashamed of herself; quite by accident, she'd stumbled into Ragnar's mind, and, by all rights, should be doing something to help him with his dilemma, but she found she couldn't face the being within those mirrors._

_She couldn't possibly be the being in the mirrors. Could she?_

_Like the people of Earth, the people of Mars had, at various times in their histories, had many gods and one God, depending upon which epoch one focused on. But she found herself wondering how any god or God could tolerate the awfulness in the mirrors, the terribleness that haunted and mocked her from every corner. "Sarah?" she asked. This was Ragnar's mind, after all; it made sense that the entity known as Sarah Marshall should…._

…_.should what? Be here? Be in communication with him?_

_Was Sarah the being in the mirrors?_

_She looked up, watching the columns ascend into the infinite vaguery that was the sky here in this strange place, wanting to scream out of sheer frustration, but knowing it would do no good, anyway. There was nowhere to scream __to.__ The awfulness was __there__, it was everywhere, and there was no getting away from it, just as there was no defining it. She felt like she was drowning in horror…_

"_Well," said a voice behind her. "Took you long enough."_

…_.._

The waking world: Megan lay with her head against Ragnar's, as they both slept. The clock radio chimed; 11:30 pm. Her communicator buzzed once, twice, three times. On they both slept.

_Within the dreamworld…_

_Megan faced a woman of literally unearthly beauty. Dressed in a white lab coat, the woman had blue skin, like Ragnar's own, and was a few inches taller than Megan herself, with wavy black hair cascading down her back, a full heart-shaped face that came to a pointed chin, large dark eyes ever so slightly almond-shaped, and wearing a somewhat amused look on a face that Megan could easily believe would never need any makeup. "You…you've got to be his mother. I mean, you must be. We're, we're inside his mind. But…I don't understand," she faltered._

_The woman smiled a little crooked smile. So familiar... "What you're seeing is an autonomous interactive recording, I suppose you'd say, preprogrammed into my son's genetic code. My husband and I calculated that there was a small but significant chance that, in his lifetime, he'd encounter at least one being or entity with telepathic powers. If that person, being or entity had been male, that person would be seeing an image of my husband. As it is, you are seeing me. I have some things to tell you, seeing that you are his friend."_

"_How do you know I'm a friend? Do you have access to Ragnar's mind, his memories?"_

"_Only in part. But if you were not a friend, but an enemy, there is a built-in backlash effect that would have erased every thought, every memory, even every emotion, from your mind, leaving you in a permanent coma. That didn't happen, obviously, so you must be a friend. That's why it's very difficult to read his mind without his consent; he has to permit you entry. It's a failsafe program we devised and implanted within him, to guard against just such possibilities._

"_And because you're here, and we're having this conversation, I can tell three things: one, you are, of course, telepathic. Two, you two are, at the very least, friends. And three, as of right now, you are touching each other, skin-on-skin contact. Oh, one other thing: you are most probably asleep. That enables the link to be better, more easily established._

"_Whether or not you two are a sexually intimate couple, I cannot say, but the odds favor it."_

"_Ah, uhm." Megan stammered, at a loss for words momentarily. _Change the subject, Megan._ "But what did you two place in him, in his genes, to defeat Doomsday?"_

"_Telling you outright would handicap the weapon itself. So I cannot. But one thing I can say: whatever he does, you will be a part of it."_

"_What? What do you mean?"_

"_Nothing acts totally alone. Even the monster you call 'Doomsday' responds to his environment. So, too, will my son. And, for better or for worse, to whatever degree you are joined to him, you are a part of that environment. So you will have an influence on him. One way or another._

" _And…he will only have one chance to use this weapon. One chance only._

"_So…a better question would be: what do you __want__ him to do?_

"_What action or actions would you support him in doing? And to what degree?"_

….

The waking world: Megan slept on, though she fidgeted in her sleep, as though from a nightmare. Ragnar slept on, her arm around him.

Nightwing paused outside the door to Ragnar's room. Megan's transponder had located her as being within, even as it had Ragnar himself. He really didn't want to interrupt what could easily be an embarrassingly intimate moment.

But neither of them was answering their comm. units, and he was beginning to be a little concerned. With anyone else, it might not have been such a concern for him, but too little was known about Ragnar and his gold ring for him to be truly comfortable. He signaled for entrance.

No response.

…..

_In the dreamworld of Ragnar's mind: Megan was trying to formulate an answer for the question she'd been asked. What, exactly, __did__ she want him to do?_

_In every situation, everyone has at least two choices: do something, or do nothing. If one does something, then it begs the question as to what to do, but choosing to do nothing is, by itself, a choice._

_What would she have him do? Fly off and face down this monster, this destroyer of worlds, and very probably get killed? Do nothing, and allow untold how many beings to suffer a terrible death? "I…I don't know. Why can't you just tell me about this gene-mod you put in him? What is he supposed to do with it?" she pleaded._

_The image of Ragnar's mother shook her head. "I have already told you as much as I can. More information would negate the plan. It comes down to what you would have him do, and what you would help him do." She paused. "Surely, you don't think that doesn't matter to him?"_

"_It, it shouldn't, I mean, we're just good friends…."_

"_Who happen to be sleeping together even as we speak. Does this truly say nothing to you?_

"_And it may well be…that more than one option is open to him. I cannot know. But he must act soon, before any more lives are lost. Before the monster adapts beyond the range of the primary weapon. And it may already have done so."_

_To be continued…_


	14. Chapter 14: Gold

_Okay, people. Here's the final chapter in "Gold Justice." If it doesn't please you, rest assured it pleases me even less._

The Gold Corps: Gold Justice, Chapter 14: Gold

Dick gave up on the doorbell, and finally just knocked on the door. He had the override codes for all the doors, but he could just see himself interrupting the two during a steamy moment. That would be hard to work past. But his alarm was mounting…

…..

Ragnar woke, with Megan's arm around him, her cheek nestled against his head. She was groaning softly, in her sleep, stirring, ever so slightly, as though in the grip of some dream. "Megan?" He gently, carefully extracted himself from within her embrace, and looked up at her face. "Megan?" Jostled her slightly.

She came awake at once. "No! I mean…" Then she paused as she realized what was going on. "You seemed like you were having a nightmare," he said, looking at her with concern. "Are you alright?"

Blushing, she remembered the parting words of the "recording" of Ragnar's mother in his head: _the two of you are sleeping together._ In the most literal sense of the word, that was true. And they _had_ engaged in a form of intimacy…she found herself blushing further. "I, yes, Ragnar. I'm fine, I just….I guess I fell asleep, too."

"You seemed like you were having a-*" His comment was interrupted by Nightwing's knocking on the door interrupted him, and he went to answer it. "You two okay in there? I've been calling you…"

"Uh, yes, we, we're okay, Dick. Just, uh, give us a moment, will you?"

"Sure."

But now Megan knew she had to do, to say, something. Ragnar was looking at her with the perplexed look of someone who has part of the pieces of a puzzle, but is unsure how they go together. "Ragnar, I…look, we need to talk."

"Do we? You have the look about you of someone in possession of valuable information…" He eyed her, an expression of cautious expectation on his face. "Megan. Is there something you need to tell me?"

"I can probably show you better than I can tell you, and it would take too long to tell it, anyway. But, if you will, just open up your mind to me?" She was acutely conscious about what Ragnar's mother had said, about the psionic backlash effect built into his mind.

"Of course." He opened his mind to her, trusting her implicitly, and she touched her fingertips to his forehead. His eyes went wide as the "dream sequence" played out in his head. "My…mother?" More information crossload. Then, a look came in his eyes she'd seen before: _Comprehension._ He'd connected something, made a leap of logic…_solved a puzzle._ "Of course. It's…really rather simple." Excitedly, he grasped her by the shoulders, completing forgetting the delicate moment of a few minutes ago. "Megan, _that's it!_ I know how to defeat the monster!"

…..

But then, in the next second, he turned from her, clutching his head, as though with a sudden headache. "No, no. That…wouldn't work. No. I couldn't…"

"What? Ragnar, what is it?"

"It…no, it wouldn't be…I couldn't…."

She could recognize the signs by now. He had something, or knew something, that he was deliberately not sharing. "Ragnar, you tell me what this is that you've thought of right now! I thought you were the one who was so gung-ho to stop the thing!"

"'Gung-ho'? What is-*"

"Don't change the subject! If we're ever to be anything more than just casual acquaintances, you have _got_ to learn to start trusting me! Now, what is it?"

He wouldn't meet her gaze. "It…would involve putting you in danger. I am not…not willing to do that."

Nightwing appeared again at the still-open doorway. "Look, normally I'm all for the quality time thing, but we just got an urgent message from GL. Meeting in the conference room in five. Be there."

…..

The gods and Kilowog's team had pursued the monster into a gas giant's moon belt. The radiation given off by the gas giant began to affect the Green Lanterns' rings, causing "ghost" images to appear. _We don't do things just right,_ thought Kilowog, _We'll__ be the ghosts._ "Hey, Hal," he spoke into his ring, "Just wanted ta let ya know you may have a _very_ unwelcome visitor pokin' around in the neighborhood of Jupiter…"

….

Watchtower: J'onn J'onzz had assembled the entire team, core members as well as auxiliary. Omega level alert: _Doomsday sighted on Jupiter_. It was no longer of academic issue as to where the monster was; like all monsters, who seemingly thumbed their noses (those that had noses) at the laws of probability, it was _here._

Mt. Justice: Nightwing assembled the entire team, in spite of the lateness of the hour. The possibility of Doomsday this close to Earth was…not to be taken lightly. And, Dick thought privately, whatever devil or minor demon was in charge of matters like these would probably make _sure_ that, before it was all over and done with, Doomsday would put in an appearance on Earth. It had happened too often in the past for him to doubt it now. The only question was, what could they do about it? What preparations could they make? "Alright, people. This is the score: out around Jupiter, the GL Corps and some characters calling themselves New Gods—yeah, I know, never heard of 'em either—are doing their damndest—maybe literally , in the case of the gods—to pound the stuffing out of Doomsday. They might even get lucky and succeed. But we all know that's not the way to bet. Wally, I gonna need you for scout duty. Here's your patrol perimeter; under no circumstances, and I do mean _no_ circumstances, are you to try anything against the monster directly. I don't care if you see forty-seven nuns in danger, I need that information more than we need a dead hero. Aqualad, I need you on standby. Superboy, you, M'gann, Ragnar, you're with m—wait. Where's Ragnar?"

At that moment, the only Gold Lantern in the universe was just exiting the outer atmosphere, his ring filling him in on location data. It wasn't hard to find; even with the interference from Jupiter itself, the energies being released were visible from Earth.

He didn't like what he had to do one bit, but he was determined that he should do it. He saw no other course of action. Not if others were to live.

He was under no illusions regarding his ring versus those of the Green Lanterns, but he had found that he used his ring's power slightly differently: whereas they created solid light objects which they wielded as weapons, he tended to utilize the energies of his ring directly. Maybe it was due to a different mindset.

Also, if his plan went as he both hoped and feared it would, this wouldn't be about power rings at all.

The battle had already consumed two of Jupiter's smaller moons, their fragments an expanding cloud of debris that obscured both the monster and monster hunters. Kilowog ordered his strike team back; they didn't need to be caught unawares, as Lightray had been. Unlike the gods, they could be altogether too easily killed.

Highfather scanned for any sign of the beast, using his mother box like an Earthly Geiger counter. But what it told him caused even his battle-wise eyes to widen. "Green Lantern! You might wish to contact your superiors, these so-called Guardians, immediately! They are preparing to quarantine this entire star system!"

….

Oa: {{But have we no other choice? What we do here, now, this day, will mean certain death for everyone there, including our own corps members!}}

Paalko's mental "voice" had never sounded more solemn. {{We cannot risk this creature getting loose again. You have already seen the destruction the thing has caused. We have it trapped, stymied in Sol's star system, but only for the moment. We must act while we can. We may not have another such opportunity.}}

In the shocked silence that followed, Ganthet "spoke": {{Are we sure this subquantum containment field will hold it? It seems to make a practice of overcoming all obstacles.}}

{{Nothing is certain. But we must weigh the needs of the galaxy, indeed, even the entire universe, against the needs of the comparatively few. Once in place, the force-field can then be disconnected from this reality, set adrift in hypertime itself. Even this monster could not come back from the Void beyond all things. But we must act quickly, while our strike team and these so-called "New Gods" have the thing stopped. For now.}}

Still Ganthet dithered. {{We must be sure. Once in place, this containment field will be permanent and cannot be breached, either by us or by means of the warp tubes these gods utilize. They would all be trapped, and there would be no undoing that decision. It behooves us to be certain.}} Pause. Then, {{But I regret to say I have no other viable courses of action to suggest.}}

…..

Ragnar reached the edge of the expanding dust cloud that had once been one of Jupiter's minor moons. He used his ring, not to search for the monster, but to search for the place it would most likely be…

Onboard her bioship, an _extremely irritated_ Miss Martian was just crossing the asteroid belt. Of course. The _one place_ in _all_ _creation _where this _absolute fool_ of a boy would be heading. She didn't even have to know what his course was. She already knew where he'd end up.

She'd run out on Nightwing's desperate calls, both angry and, yes, _terrified_ as she'd never been before. She knew Ragnar well enough to know where he was headed.

Kilowog had dropped back from the battle, and was on "comm." mode, talking to the Guardians. "Yessirs, but we really think between us, we have a chance. This guy, calls himself 'Highfather,'z, got this, like, incredibly powerful scepter. It stopped the thing once before, on its lowest setting. Now he's gonna give it whatever it takes. Full power.

"Yeah, I can't say the solar system will ever be the same again, but…what? No, we really do a fighting chance here. Give us just a few minutes. The thing's using this dust cloud it's created, and it—hey, what was that?" The Martian bioship silently _whooshed_ past him, heading for the very same dust cloud. _Is there anybody __not__ here? Mebbe I should take a head count…_

But once here, Megan didn't really have an exact fix on Ragnar's position. Her bioship's hyperdar scans, however, picked up in a massively powerful form headed her way…

"There!" Izaya pointed with his scepter, as the grey horror emerged from the cloud and charged the girl, just then exiting her ship. She'd already shifted her personal form to survive in space, at least for a moment.

The monster came at her. "Oh, shuttup_!_" She yelled at the thing, "I'm not even here for you, and you've already pissed me off!" She landed a powerful two-handed blow on the creature's misshapen skull. She kept her distance, scanning for Ragnar. He should be here, somewhere.

The monster was caught momentarily off-guard by her haymaker, but it recovered in the space of microseconds, and, using its newly-developed electromagnetic traction field, again came at her, even as the Green Lanterns and the gods raced towards them. It could kill her, then deal with them at its leisure. This one would be easy, and was closer…

Miss Martian knew that, physically, she was completely out of her league. And she still didn't know where Ragnar had gotten off to. When she found him, he would get such a earful…

The monster struck her an unexpected blow, and only her own changeable metabolism saved her from being torn in two. She quickly ghosted out from the creature's reach, and attacked it with her mind…

The monster's mind was a nova of rage and hate, with very little actual thought, at least, as most beings recognize it. It only knew that it must survive, and that survival meant that every other living creature in the entire universe must die.

She reeled, as the creature adapted to her mental attack, fighting back with new adaptations of its own. The oncoming gods and Lanterns were closing the distance between them as fast as they could, but even so, they were still too far away for any effective attack that would not include her as a casualty…

Miss Martian screamed in agony as the creature's newly developed telepathy tore into her own mind. She pressed her hands to the side of her head, knowing it would do no good, even as a part of her warned her: _it is coming. Get away._ But even with that, she still wanted to find her _total idiot_ of a boyfriend and get him as far away from this mess as was possible…

And Ragnar appeared out of nowhere, interposing himself between them, lasering the monster precisely in the eyes, catching it off guard, the beams of golden light focused and refocused through the lenses of the monster's own eyes, burning into the interior of the monster's eyeballs, and sending it tumbling away, its hands reflexively covering its face. But only for a moment. The thing immediately turned to this new attacker, even as its eyes healed, and, as it always had before, struck back with everything at its disposal. Including its new telepathic power….

…_And the psionic backlash effect Ragnar's parents had implanted within him struck, cleaving through the monster's mind like a war axe, obliterating both thought and emotion. In the space of a nanosecond, the monster's mind was erased, made into a tabula rasa, a clean slate. Even the strands of its own highly-adaptable genetic code, that had carried the memory of its various incarnations down through the centuries, altered slightly, unkinking just a bit, here and there. Doomsday had existed for so long, fueled by rage…but now, that emotion was gone, even as was all its limited cognitive ability._

_Without its rage, the monster...was no more. It simply floated there, a mindless husk, without even enough mind to ask itself why._

Megan came to with Ragnar and the others, Green Lanterns and gods alike, clustered around her. "Megan! Are you alright?"

Groggily, painfully, she put a hand to her head. They must have artificially generated an area of breathable air here, because she found herself gasping. "Am I-* Ragnar? What, what happened?"

"I'm sorry, Megan, but I couldn't tell you. You had to go up against the creature just long enough for it to develop some telepathic power, then I attacked it. When it tried to attack my mind, the psychic backlash my parents instilled in me took over, effectively wiping the monster's mind. I couldn't tell you, lest the thing sense that when it attacked you. I…." A look of pure pain seemed permanently etched across his face. "I…am sorry. Please…please forgive me!"

Her head was still pounding, but some things were beginning to make sense. And the thing making the most sense right then was the sense of outrage. "You…you manipulated me! You knew I'd follow you out here, knew I'd….! You _counted _on that! You _used_ me, Ragnar!" She looked at him , an expression of pure rage transforming her face into an ugly mask. "And, and to think I-*" And then she did something she'd never done before, in her entire life: she palm-slapped him, with all her Martian strength. Caught off-guard, he tumbled end over end, crashing into Kilowog. The only thing that had kept his head on his shoulders was his ring's natural shielding. "I _never_ wanna see you again! You hear me? _Never!_ Friends _trust_ each other, Ragnar!" And she summoned her bioship, which had been keeping station out beyond the reach of the confrontation. Got in it, and jetted off for Earth.

Kilowog noticed Ragnar's expression. "She…doesn't mean that, kid. She's just…upset. Sometimes…sometimes we say things, y'know, when we're…upset that…I mean…"

"I thank you, Lantern Kilowog, but I'm afraid she does."

Highfather and the gods conferred. The personal business between the golden garbed ring user and the Martian girl was none of their concern. Kilowog was communicating with the Guardians, and shortly a hologram of Ganthet appeared in their midst. "Well done, Lanterns." He nodded towards the gods. "We will now take the monster's body into custody, for safekeeping, in one of our sciencecells. There, perhaps we can study it, now that the matter of its lethality has been…addressed."

"No," Izaya growled. "_We_ will take the monster's mindless body with _us._ We are, after all, better equipped to hold and study it than you are."

"One might note that your record for keeping it secure could tolerate substantial improvement."

"Whoa, hold it." Kilowog got between Highfather and Ganthet. "B'fore we start _another_ Galaxy War Three, how about this: why don't you each take a _half?_"

"A half?" Mused Ganthet. Izaya mirrored his puzzlement momentarily, but then caught on. "But…the creature would surely regenerate…"

"Meaning you'd have _two_ Doomsdays, yeah, I know. But, if needed, y' could put those two ta fightin' it out, mebbe on some isolated planet, until, until heat death o' the universe or somethin'. You could then quarantine the whole planet if ya had to. Plus, in the meantime, you'd each have somethin' ta study."

"Hm." Highfather rubbed his chin. That…was a surprisingly logical chain of thought, for a mortal. Tactically, it made a certain amount of sense. "Well, I suppose…"

"If you…" And Ganthet nodded, indicating the assembled gods, "can guarantee the safe keeping of your half…"

Highfather inclined his head, not at Ganthet, but at Orion, who was already building up another head of steam, ready for another conflict. And more conflict wouldn't solve anything, not now. "We are agreeable to this, if you are."

"Highfather!"

"Be silent, my son. There is a time for war, and there is a time for peace. This is a such a time, inasmuch as our goals coincide with the Guardians. There is no need to fight over this matter; that would be counterproductive."

"Very well." Ganthet turned to Kilowog. "We'll need an interspacial shear plane to divide the monster's body…" And they all turned to Doomsday….

…But Doomsday was no longer there. Nor was there any trace of Ragnar Rok, the Gold Lantern.

Earth, Mt. Justice: Miss Martian landed her bioship, and practically boiled out of the cockpit, still seething. Of all the nerve! How _dare_ he!

Ignoring Nightwing's concerned questions, and ignoring everybody else, she stormed into her room. Megan Morse, as she was known on Earth, had never really realized that she had such a temper. But she made up for lost time, kicking and breaking almost everything kickable and breakable before stopping for breath.

A certain Gold Lantern was going to get _such_ a talking to, when he showed back up! She'd _never_ been this angry. With anyone. Over anything.

Out past the orbit of Pluto: Ragnar Rok, the only Gold Lantern in the universe, looked back at the star system he was just leaving. His eyes were somewhat better than standard human eyes, and he could ever so faintly see, or imagined he could see, the tiny bluish-white pinpoint of light, the third one out from the sun.

He couldn't blame her. He _had_ manipulated her. And the bad part was, if he had to do it all over again, he'd probably do the same thing.

Dying in battle was nothing compared to _giving up one's life_, the life one had hoped for. Death was not to be feared, for it was the end. It was the living that was hard.

So he couldn't hold it against her, that she hated him now. He wasn't too fond of himself. Sighing there, in the airlessness of space, he remembered the good times, the times when he'd held her, when she'd held him…the time they'd kissed. He projected that moment with his ring, held that image, that sensation in his head for just a moment….

….and then turned away, letting the image fade. No, there was nothing for him back there. He had lost everything when he lost her_._ There was nothing left for him on Earth. Even memories of the past were painful.

He glanced back at the form he was towing, the hulking gray biped. In a sense of the word, the thing, even though mindless, was still the closest thing he had in all creation to a relative. _And it's my responsibility._

He looked outward, beyond the galactic spiral. The great galaxy in the constellation humans called _Andromeda_ was the faintest smudge. It would take him a long time to get there, even at his top speed, which he didn't even know. But get there he would. Perhaps he would make new friends there. Perhaps Sarah was there.

He sped off through the inky blackness of space, towing his genetic brother behind him.

Earth, Mt. Justice: Megan sat in her room, still steaming. Of all the nerve! Typical _boy_: don't tell the girl anything, you can't trust girls, everybody knew they were all stupid and emotional, anyway. Yes, that was the way boys thought. When he got back, they were _definitely_ gonna have to have it out.

Yes, when he got back, they were definitely going to have to have a _serious discussion_ about certain trust issues. If there was EVER to be anything, _anything at all,_ between them…

11:30 PM: She still couldn't sleep, being too worked up. Ragnar hadn't come back yet—probably out with his buddies, out there, doing who knows what, having a good laugh at the way he'd fooled her. Except…she couldn't see him as ever laughing at her. No matter what the reason. In fact, come to think of it, she couldn't even see him as laughing, _period_, about anything.

Well. When he got back…a definite heart-to-heart. That was settled.

1:30 AM: What could he be doing out there so long? They both had school tomorrow—well, today, she corrected, glancing at her clock, and she knew they both needed their rest. She smiled a rueful smile as she remembered hitting him. She'd thrown punches before, but this was the first time she'd ever actually _slapped_ anyone. But he deserved it. Yes, he certainly deserved it. She'd been so furious that she'd even used her Martian strength…okay, so that was uncalled for, maybe. Good thing that ring of his kept his head from flying off his shoulders. She guessed on some level she had to have been aware of that, had counted on it.

So where was he?

2:45 AM: She wished he'd get back from wherever he was so they could get this thrashed out. She wasn't seething anymore, and maybe, just maybe she'd…said a couple of things she maybe shouldn't have, or could've put some things she did say in a different way. But that didn't excuse him! Oh, no!

3:51 AM: Maybe she should call the GL's, see what was keeping him so long. But then she thought better of it. No, best not to let him see any hint of weakness in her…

5:16 AM….

_Gold is a chemical element, atomic number 79. In its purest form, it is a soft, malleable metal often used in jewelry and most frequently found as a unit of exchange in those worlds within the Reach of Man. Gold is an element, a metal that does not tarnish nor rust. It does not oxidize or corrode. Unless tampered with, it remains in its native environment, unchanged, unchangeable, immutable, and alone. Always alone._

The End


End file.
